Rappacini's Last Laugh
by Allaine
Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it.
1. Prologue

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (Prologue)  
Author: Allaine

Disclaimers: Complete disclaimers will be given with the next chapter.  
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Prologue

I was already on my way to Admittances when they paged me. Like I really needed to be told. I could see the Batmobile pull up through the windows at Arkham Asylum. The Batmobile meant Batman, which usually meant the really big names in Gotham's criminal community. And since most of _those_ were already in Arkham, there was more than a slim chance that I knew who this was.

"Need you in Admittance, doc," I was told over the phone when I finally slowed down enough to answer the page. "We try to have at least one woman doctor near when these two are brought in."

I bit of a snappy reply. There'd be time enough for those next year. Besides, I had proof. Two, he'd said. Who else could it be but the Batman's arch nemesis - the one whose madness had almost gotten a LOT of people killed more than once - and his female sidekick?

I hadn't seen either in person before. My interest lay in more than just witnessing good theater, of course. These two, from what I'd read, were as screwed up as they came.

I hung up the phone, just in time for the elevator doors to open. I crunched the last of my lollipop between my teeth and spat the stick out. Blue raspberry - there aren't too many blue lollipops out there, you know. And even then, I knew my candy. It came with the territory.

As I was saying though - God, I can be such a scatterbrain! As I was _saying_ (or thinking, at least, since I'm talking to myself here), I liked the blue lollipops because of the color, not the flavor. This particular brand left my tongue a peculiar shade of blue. It threw my patients off when they met me for the first time. Sometimes you have to throw these lunatics off if you want to get into their heads. If you wanted to heal them, that is.

Or if you wanted something else.

The elevator doors pinged open again, and I walked out into anarchy. Par for the course at Arkham.

This wasn't my first time seeing Batman. He'd been here before. Usually I paid careful attention to him, because you never knew when it might come in handy. At the very least you could get used to the sight of him. He was still an imposing specimen, though, and scary as all get-out.

Tonight, however, I only had eyes for his prisoners. They were yelling, of course. I suppose they're subdued when Batman first takes them into custody, but by the time they get here, they've got an audience, and a reputation to uphold. So he was making a grand show of how futile this was, and how he'd kill them all upon his inevitable escape.

Arkham inmates spouted lies like they were carbon dioxide, but he wasn't lying about the escape part. They always escaped. The number of times a dangerous criminal had escaped from Arkham in the past year alone was dwarfed by the ingenuity of their schemes. In Arkham, it seemed, there were a thousand ways to slip through the cracks - including slipping through the cracks in the literal sense, as Clayface had been known to do.

The fact that Arkham leaked inmates like a runny nose was one of the things I loved about it.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Stories, like jokes, lost their punch when you told them out of order.

And I know all about jokes.

Boy, even when I know I'm getting ahead of myself, I can't seem to stop myself! Like I said, that comes later.

Anyway, he was trying to strike a fine figure for myself and the other lucky employees who would be monitoring him. He was handsome enough, tall and thin with a long face. His most prominent feature, however, was his mouth. I wondered if giving him a lollipop would shut him up.

Probably not. Unless it was the size of a rubber chicken.

What did shut him up, or at least refocus his attention on the pain he was in, was an orderly twisting an arm behind his back with more force than before. He cried out, and of course that was when _she_ got violent.

She was merely his trusted henchwench, but she was still more famous than most crimelords. Part of that was the spotlight trained on her infamous employer and lover, and part of that was undoubtedly the outfit. It left nothing to the imagination. In fact, it looked like its design had been based on the premise that imagination didn't exist in the first place. And it wasn't wasted on her, what with her supermodel looks. And in fact, after our first therapy session, I thought the supermodel comparison was a good one. She was a prima donna to rival the divas in Milan.

I doubted supermodels were as vicious, however. Even Hollywood actresses didn't pursue photographers with the same passion with which she tackled the "cretin" who'd hurt her "rosebud". The female orderly who'd been holding onto her never stood a chance, and she was flat on her back. Batman was quick, though, and he pulled her off.

She turned and wrenched herself from his grip, but her momentum was too much for her balance, and she stumbled forward. Far enough to run into me, in fact. I quickly found myself one of several women who were no longer on her feet. "Oof!" I cried out, my pager spinning away across the floor.

The woman on top of me looked down, and seemed to notice for the first time that I was a woman, and that I was having difficulty breathing with her bosom pressed against my face. "Sorry," she said, lifting herself up slightly.

That was how I met Poison Ivy. I was assaulted by her breasts.

When I could use my lips again, I stuck my tongue out at her. As I mentioned, it was blue, and this appeared to confuse her. This created more than enough of an opening for someone to pull her off of me. She screeched, but I sensed something in the air that said the worst was over.

"You all right, Doctor Quinzell?" another doctor asked me as he helped me to my feet.

"I'm fine," I lied. Actually, embarrassment aside, I was better than fine. I was excited. The Floronic Man and Poison Ivy were official patients. And I was one of their doctors. I planned to learn a lot about them, and from them too.

Sometimes the joke is on me. Good thing I have a sense of humor.

To be continued . . .


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (1?)  
Author: Allaine

Disclaimers: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.  
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 1

_Patient was rendered permanently barren due to the experiments she was subjected to when she was younger. Due to her obsession with the man who performed the experiments, patient is unable to blame him for this, and consequently claims that her infertility does not bother her. This is also the probable cause of her obsession with the well-being of ordinary plant life - her unfulfilled maternal instincts finding a new target._

That was an actual quote from Ivy's file. I wrote it, you see. The typical psycho-babble that fills her file for pages and pages. From that perspective, I was no different than any other doctor who treated her before or since.

You're probably wondering why I have access to Ivy's file at the push of a button. It's not like I'm obsessed with her or anything. Even if some of my doctors think so. I have other people's files, see?

_Patient also exhibits a tendency to develop short-term fixations on other people. Occasionally these fixations become permanent obsessions. One example is Patient's relationship with Isley, Pamela - which has been the subject of ranting for the entirety of our session today._

That passage was from . . . okay, so it's my file. Don't pay attention to what they say about me. Like I said, I'm not obsessed with Ivy. Besides, the doctors at Arkham just repeat the things written in last month's file. Believe me - once upon a time I was one of them.

Obviously I'm going to give away the story whether I want to or not, so I'd better just spit it out now. Dr. Harleen Quinzell, the girl you met at the beginning of my tale? Blonde, petite, cute-as-a-button staff psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum? Gone. Well, except for the first three parts. Although Arkham's still a part of my life. I'm a frequent guest there. Except "guest" implies I'm allowed to leave any time I want. Which I'm not. Not allowed, anyway. At Arkham, most anybody can leave any time they want anyway. It's one reason I'm legally insane, actually.

Even now I'm jumping three steps ahead! Look, I'll just lay it out for you. I'm a criminal. I operate out of Gotham mostly. I put on a costume, I take my bag of theme tricks, and I do things that are technically considered "crimes". I have my own reasons, you know, but nobody listens to me. They just talk to the "victims".

My doctors think it's because I used to work at Arkham. They think it's another one of those "short-term fixations" turned "permanent obsessions". They think I was the wrong kind of doctor.

The nurses and orderlies at Arkham, not to mention the patients, tend to divide the doctors into three categories. They're either too incompetent to get a job somewhere else, too naive to understand what they're getting themselves into, or too ambitious to remain long - just long enough to write that book. Four or five doctors made a nice paycheck writing about Arkham. Others got more for writing about specific patients - although lately they seem to turn up dead. Don't ask me why. I can't see why Harvey would have been bothered when that one doctor-turned-author wrote about how Two-Face got into a fistfight with himself because the scarred half started having erotic fantasies about the girl he was gonna marry before that vial of acid turned half his face into the surface of Mars.

Anyway, I was pegged as the third kind. Only I tried to go too deep into my subjects' minds, and I got sucked in.

They're half-right (no offense, Harv). I was ambitious. I wasn't there to heal my patients. I became one of them. But I didn't want to write a book.

Becoming one of them was the idea from the start.

I figured out pretty quickly that the minute you start running around Gotham with a wacky theme and a pair of tights, the authorities think you're nuts. Personally, I think wearing a jacket and tie every day is nuts, but as we've established, they don't pay attention to me.

And why Batman is allowed to run free, I don't know. My guess, the police decided they wouldn't have any more luck stopping him than us loonies do.

Anyway, speaking of the Bat, because of him it's not too bright being a criminal in Gotham. You're going to get caught. I'm good, but I wasn't always good. I figured an amateur like me was bound to be arrested before long.

Why then, you ask, would I become a criminal in the first place?

It's not about getting caught. It's about getting out. You need a lawyer and a greedy judge to get out of prison, generally. But they break out of Arkham all the time.

When you think about it like that, which criminals do YOU think are the crazy ones?

So, the first time I was taken into custody, the cops took one look at my red-and-black spandex and my tassels - probably a good long look at my body too, knowing John Law - and dropped me off at Arkham. The rest was easy. I was around lunatics long enough to fake it, and the docs had a nice explanation for my insanity gift-wrapped for them. Arkham Syndrome.

I spent a week making sure everyone knew I was nuts, and then I escaped. It was easy.

After all, I had a year to prepare.

I know every way INTO and OUT OF Arkham. I know where every camera is, and every locked door. I know about all the hiding places - including a few dozen I added. I had keys made. When the locks are changed, the next time I'm inside I make sure I get the new keys before I sneak out. Getting the new passwords are trickier, but I know a girl who's good with computers, likes money, and loves breaking the rules.

Oh, Commissioner Gordon, if you only knew what your daughter really did at the library.

Sometimes I even let myself get captured so I can restock all my hiding places.

Just don't tell anyone I'm not crazy. After all, I'm talking to you, and you're me. So I must be crazy, right?

And only a crazy girl would be obsessed with Poison Ivy. Which I'm not. Honest.

Well, maybe a little.

* * *

My first session with Poison Ivy was the day after she was brought in. I'd already seen the Floronic Man that morning. He was obviously nuts. He thought he was from another world where plants could talk and humans were second-class citizens. He'd been sent here for attempting to start a revolt.

He was probably sent away for being revolting. Jason Woodrue is a pompous egomaniac with an overinflated sense of self and a God complex. If I can come up with any other ways to say he's an arrogant fuck, I'll let you know.

He's also completely ruthless, a cold-blooded killer, and he has a rotten sense of humor. Which makes him a prime target for my "treatment", but I'll get to that later.

And for a guy whose sidekick has a body most men would kill for, in cold blood no less, Woodrue isn't very fond of her. Don't get me wrong, he likes having her at his side, and he certainly likes having her in his bed. But he puts her down constantly.

_Patient's belittling of patient Isley, Pamela, is a product of his buried feelings of insecurity. Patient needs to remind both himself and her that he is the more powerful one, and that she is his inferior, when at heart he knows the opposite is true._

I wrote that one. Most doctors don't agree with my opinion. They see Batman's legendary archnemesis, they see the henchwench, and they automatically conclude which is the dangerous one.

But Woodrue isn't the one with a seething mix of chemicals and toxins running through his bloodstream. He does have a knack for making me want to puke, but it's not because he breathes mustard gas.

All Woodrue has are big, crazy ideas, the botanical expertise to set them in motion, and the heartlessness that allows him not to care that a lot of people will be killed. Poison Ivy is his personal laboratory for making the world's deadliest concoctions. And like I said, Ivy gave herself to him a long time ago. It's a duty and an honor for her to be used by him for the "brilliant plans" created by his "unmatched intellect".

Those quotes are in her file too, but I don't need to retrieve it. I've heard her say it enough times.

While we're on the subject, let's talk about Pamela. I'd rather talk about her anyway. She strolled into our first session wearing the generic Arkham uniform that all inmates, male and female both, wear. It wasn't the same as the impossibly skimpy leaves she had on the night before, but she had a body that wasn't going to be denied by cheap cotton.

As an aside, that costume she had on before? Woodrue designed it. He likes others to see just how beautiful his sidekick is. It strokes his ego. Ivy, well, sucker for him that she is, she doesn't mind being dressed like a tramp. Although God save the man who ogles her a little TOO much.

Now that I had the time and leisure to really look at her, I couldn't be unimpressed. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in person, and as I'm a girl who swings both ways, I felt something other than bitter envy.

I trust me being bi isn't a problem? Since, you know, you are too.

For a moment that day, I wondered if my sexuality was going to interfere with my objectivity. But the other men didn't seem to have a problem.

Then she opened her mouth, and I knew why.

"So you're the little hussy who wanted to be alone with my rosebud this morning," Ivy said, looking down her nose at me.

Me and the Floronic Man? Ewwww, gross!

That was my first real introduction to Poison Ivy, bitch goddess. Our first encounter was too short for her to unveil her disdain for all things beneath her - which turned out to be almost everything. Very little earns her respect. Woodrue, plants, and that was about it.

Later, she deigned to add me to the list. Later still, she started treating me like a friend instead of a trusted servant.

But like I said, that's for later.

That day, she was one part activist, stridently listing all the ways in which we humans have oppressed and brutalized plants, and two parts diva, expecting me to nod my head, agree, and see to all of her demands. Her delusionary state included treating nearly everyone as if they were her personal assistant.

Except Jason, of course. _Jason_ was Gaia's gift to the planet. Never mind that according to his lunatic fantasy, he was banished from his home dimension for being anti-plant. Ivy just chalked that up to being a tireless defender of the downtrodden. Back home, it was the humans. Here it was the plants.

I was introduced to several different people that hour, you see. Pamela Isley, mental patient. Poison Ivy, ecoterrorist. Poison Ivy, bitch.

And then there was the Poison Ivy who defied logic. This was a woman who, I quickly learned, had absolutely no respect for men. Men were the worst of a bad species, allowing their penises to think for them, always wanting, always taking. She had the chemicals that could make men do her bidding, and she gloried in using them, reducing any man she disliked to being her groveling servant.

Yet she was obsessed, head-over-heels in love with one! And she allowed him to treat her like a piece of meat!

If I am obsessed with anything about Poison Ivy, it's trying to reconcile the proud man-hater, confident in her beauty and intellect, with the pathetic, needy, clingy woman who appears as if by magic whenever Jason Woodrue enters the room. Her self-confidence vanishes. He can crush her with a word, and then lift her back up again in the next breath. She is nothing, he is everything. And when he blames his failures on her and throws her out, she's inconsolable.

I should know. I'm the one she expects to console her. The fourth time, she finally thanked me.

That was probably when I started to fall for her.

Damn it, damn it! Jumping ahead to the punchline again!

Aw hell, who am I kidding? I didn't like it at the time, but the newspapers were right when they called me the "Clown Princess of Crime". Because the clown is the one being laughed at, and this time the joke's on me.

I am obsessed.

But I'm not crazy.

I'm just in love.

To be continued . . .


	3. Chapter 2

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (2)  
Author: Allaine

Disclaimers: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.  
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 2

I hate waiting. Time wasted when I could be doing something useful. Like pantsing somebody who needs it.

Every month, Arkham Asylum changes all their internal passwords. Good idea, in their line of work. Every week would be better, but nobody wants to think of a new password every few days.

Every month, I get the new passwords in an email the following day. Barbara - I mentioned her earlier? She's one of the best hackers who cater to the Gotham underworld. Most know her by her screen name, Spoiler. We had a face-to-face meeting a while back, when she was too new to the game to know better, and I learned her secret identity. Babs loves her daddy, but she thinks he loves the job more, so she makes life easier for us criminals.

Although she does have standards. She won't help murderers and rapists, and fortunately I'm neither.

Anyway, I've got her on retainer. Every time she hacks into Arkham and gets me the information I want, I drop a few zeros into her secret bank account.

Thing is, it's been twenty-four hours since the last scheduled change (how do I know this? Interoffice email, of course), and no email. Babs is always on time. So I'm waiting.

And I hate waiting.

It reminds me of how dependent I am on other people. There's Spoiler, and then there's the guy who makes my outfits. Some villains change their look every six months, but not me. I fell in love with the jester look from the moment I saw it. Plus it's tear-resistant.

I've got another guy who makes my gadgets - the joy buzzer, the extendible boxing glove, the trick gum, the special party favors. You know, anything to get a good laugh.

And of course, there's the chemist. He sells me my custom-made Smiley gas, little pellets and bigger gas bombs. Anybody who gets a good whiff will be rolling in the aisles for a good thirty minutes. It'll lay you up in the hospital for a day with chest pains afterwards - just goes to show how we've all forgotten how to have a good laugh now and then.

The chemist is always trying to convince me to upgrade to a different gas that makes you laugh until you die, but I keep telling him that death ruins the punch line. Still, he's an alright guy. He's an evil sonuvabitch, but he knows how to laugh and he has a GREAT sense of humor, and when your business is poisons and acids, you gotta be admired for keeping a smile on your face.

Maybe in another lifetime, we could've been something. It'd cure my Poison Ivy problem, that's for sure. Oh, well.

Much as I love the guy, he's just one of several people who I rely on. And the only thing that truly connects us is the money I slip them. Makes me wonder what I'd do if one of them decides they want more than I can pay them.

Look at this frown! That's what waiting'll getcha - worry lines. I'll just email her.

* * *

Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Harley.

Of all the ways I thought I'd be spending my night, lying on my belly on some dirty roof while peering through binoculars into the next building over wasn't one of them. All because I was worrying. Because I was thinking. Because I was waiting.

I hate waiting.

Babs was a little jumpy when I finally reached her. She had my info, but she also suggested she'd have to double her prices next time for some major security upgrades. I wasn't exactly laughing on the inside when she told me this - plus I was a little spooked that she said that a mere hour after I was thinking something similar - so I asked why.

Turns out there's been rumors of a new hacker in the market calling herself Oracle. No one actually knows if Oracle's a she, but back in the old days all oracles were female, so the assumption is she's a girl. Although, as Spoiler put it, "you'd be surprised at all the boys who pretend to be women in their online games".

Thing is, the rumors also say Oracle's not for sale. In fact, she's got a hard-on for those who are, and I don't mean she wants dinner and dancing. Babs found out the rumors were true today. She was poking around in Arkham's files when the Oracle smelled her out and tried to trace her signal. She eluded the trap by the skin of her teeth.

Now she needs more money to upgrade her computers, and her old fees aren't enough.

I pointed out to her that she was providing criminals like me an importance service, and I didn't see why some anonymous upstart should be able to take that away from us.

Somehow she interpreted that as an offer to bail her out of the jam.

Eventually we did come up with this brilliant scheme. I met Babs at the park, and she gave me one of her laptops, along with specific instructions. I brought it to one of my hideouts and set it up so she could activate it by remote and access the Internet with it. Then she'd break into Arkham a second time and wait for the Oracle to show her face. The laptop won't tell Oracle much about Babs, but it will tell "her" location. Once that happens, Babs shuts the connection down.

If she's the do-gooder they say she is, she'll have no other choice but to investigate the Spoiler's supposed hideout. She might call the police, but Babs is monitoring the phone lines, and I doubt the police will be that interested in checking out the haven of a "known hacker".

When she shows, I teach her about taking life too seriously. You've got to live a little, forget about the rules, not sweat the small stuff.

That's all I'm trying to do in this dark, depressing city, really. Gotham has forgotten how to laugh, and I'm here to remind it.

Back in high school, I first noticed "Harleen Quinzell" sounded a lot like "Harlequin" when I picked up one of those romance novels. I wasn't exactly thrilled - until I looked the word up and found out what a harlequin really was.

_"1. A conventional buffoon of the commedia dell'arte, traditionally presented in a mask and parti-colored tights. 2. A clown."_

Useful trivia of the day, courtesy of the American Heritage Dictionary.

I liked the court jester image a lot more than the romance novel, actually. I was always the class clown when I was younger. I loved practical jokes and gag gifts and funny movies and circuses. Not long after, I started thinking of myself as "Harley" instead of "Harleen".

My doctors call it one of my fixations, but you know what I say to that! Pbbbbbt.

Anyway, I went to Gotham University, and I found out what a humorless, sordid town Gotham is. That impression only got stronger after I became Harley Quinn full-time and got to know the Bat. In fact, for me he came to personify what was wrong with the city. Batman was a dark, brooding party pooper who never cracked a smile or laughed at a joke. HIS city, he calls it.

Monsieur, I say, this means war!

If he thinks he can go on casting his dark cloud, his long shadow over this gloomy city, he's got another thing coming. And there's plenty of normal people just like him, all sourpusses and stuffed-shirts. These people are actually respected and admired, if you can believe it.

Batman and the wealthy snobs of Gotham became my two targets. I would teach them to be able to laugh at themselves. If the sticks were so far up their asses that they couldn't do that, at least I could remind everyone ELSE what a good laugh can feel like!

My first act as Harley Quinn was to rob some fancy soiree in downtown Gotham. Then I sprayed everyone with a special kind of silly string that leaves bright, colorful lines where they landed. One of the guests - Bruce Wayne, I think - tried to stop me, but I gave him a taste of my super-strong joy buzzer. Not enough volts to kill a guy, but enough to leave him on his back.

That's where I draw the line, by the way. All my tricks and gadgets are nonlethal. Despite what my pal the chemist says, death isn't very funny. And besides, how can you teach someone a lesson like 'there's nothing like a good joke' and then kill them? Kinda defeats the purpose, wouldn't you say?

Batman caught me two days after the heist made all the news. I quickly wrote him off as a lost cause. He can only bring a smile to others. It's my personal dream to see Batman dangling by his feet in the middle of Gotham Square wearing Mickey Mouse ears and a cream pie. After you've seen the Batman looking like that, I think you'd start laughing every time you saw him afterwards.

It looks like there's motion inside my hideout. Thank goodness. It's really filthy up here. I considered bringing my special binoculars, the ones that leave black circles around your eyes, but it'd be wasted on me. My costume comes with 'em.

Huh. Is that smoke?

"Shutting internal monologue off, Harley," I muttered as I stared at what I was seeing, mystified. The window my binoculars were trained on gave me a good view of the room where the laptop was located. Or at least, it HAD a good view. Now it was filled with smoke.

Batman used smoke to help him appear and disappear, but the only way into the room was through the door, and I never saw him through any of the other windows. If the Oracle IS Batman, then Babs might as well tell her father the truth now, because she'd never throw him off her trail.

Then the smoke cleared, and I gasped.

Inside was a person I'd never seen before. It was a caped figure, cloaked all in gray. A skeletal mask hid their features from view, while some kind of curved blade could be seen in one hand. It definitely wasn't the Bat, although it looked like this guy didn't have a sense of humor either. Unless he went in for black humor.

And now it was up to me to confront this guy. Just great. When this was over, Spoiler was getting me my passwords gratis next month.

"Looks like you've taken a spill. Need a hand?"

Uh-oh.

I felt my arm twisted behind my back before I was yanked onto my feet, then spun around and slammed back down on the roof. I cried out in pain and surprise, but I felt someone's knee in my back. And the pressure didn't ease up on my arm.

"You'd better get up here," my captor said out loud. "Looks like our hacker tried to set a trap for us."

They thought I was the hacker? I can't even pay my bills online!

Wisps of dark smoke swirled past my face, and I froze. That smoke looked awfully familiar . . .

"Let's have a better look at her."

The one who surprised me was a woman. This new voice could have belonged to a woman or a man - probably a dead one, because it didn't sound all that human. I'd been taken prisoner by zombies, and they were going to eat my brain.

I was hauled back onto my feet, and finally I got a good look at them.

I immediately recognized the first one. The blonde hair and the fishnets clued me in that I was looking at Black Canary. If she wasn't maintaining her painful grip on my arm, I might have found her attractive.

Then again, maybe not. The ghoulish figure who had appeared as if by magic - and considering they were across the street in the next building a minute ago, maybe it WAS magic - chilled me all the way down to my loins. Plus it had a hook for a hand. Old campfire horror stories resurfaced in my brain. I didn't like the way the blade gleamed either.

"Harley Quinn is Spoiler. Amazing," Canary said. "Guess you're not just a dumb blonde, huh, Quinn?"

"I was going to say the same thing about you, but I changed my mind," I snapped.

Canary let me go and shoved me toward her pal the Dementor. "I guess Oracle was right about the trap," she said.

Neither of these two was Oracle. Just how big was their little organization anyway? I made a mental note to look into other ways to hack into Arkham's computers, just in case.

"Apparently so," the other thing said.

I backed away from them, but they followed me calmly. Judging by the creature's ability to appear and disappear, I guessed they weren't too worried about losing me. But I wagered it couldn't follow what it couldn't see. And I had a trick that stopped working on Batman a long time ago, but these two were just new enough that I might pull it off.

The special noisemaker was in my hand and close to my lips in an instant, and they froze. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," I said cheerfully before I put it to my lips and blew.

"Phantasm, stop her!"

Too late, birdie.

It was just your basic birthday noisemaker, the kind that unrolled when you blew into it and made a noise. But mine unrolled more than a few inches, and the ordinary kind doesn't set off a blinding phosphorescent flash at its tip. The glaring greenish light - a gift from Ivy, thanks girlfriend! - caught them unawares, and they both flinched and threw their hands up before their eyes.

"You eat like a pi-ig, and smell like one too!" I sang merrily as I cartwheeled backwards, went over the roof's edge, and bounded down the fire escape. I know ALL the abandoned buildings surrounding my hideouts like the back of my hand.

Still, I ran and leapt about for five minutes until I was absolutely sure I'd lost them. For all I knew, Black Canary's partner was going to skip Arkham entirely and take me to Azkaban.

When I managed to catch my breath, my lungs on fire, I leaned back. My body was sore from the abuse it took from the Canary. Then I sighed.

Whatever else I'd learned tonight - such as that name "Phantasm" - I'd learned that Spoiler's troubles weren't over. Seeing as how I'd been confused with her, neither were mine.

To be continued . . .


	4. Chapter 3

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (3)  
Author: Allaine

Disclaimers: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.  
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 3

_She looked redundant with life, health, and energy; all of which attributes were bound down and compressed, as it were, and girdled tensely, in their luxuriance, by her virgin zone. Yet Giovanni's fancy must have grown morbid, while he looked down into the garden; for the impression which the fair stranger made upon him was as if here were another flower, the human sister of those vegetable ones, as beautiful as theymore beautiful than the richest of thembut still to be touched only with a glove, nor to be approached without a mask._

Another entry in my file on Poison Ivy. No doctor ever wrote that, though. Well, not unless you consider me a doctor, and my license was revoked long ago.

I've mentioned these files before. It wasn't a coincidence that I became Harley Quinn only after I had my opportunity to treat Ivy and the Floronic Man. Like I said, I came to Arkham to study the inmates, to become one of them. I knew that when I became a criminal, I'd be entering a completely new world populated by killers and psychopaths. An amateur like me could get killed.

But people tell their doctors all kinds of things, even the crazy ones. By the time I resigned, ha ha, from Arkham, I had complete files on every major and second-tier villain in Gotham, not counting the sane ones. And there are fewer of those than you'd think. Of course, I've begun to suspect that every man, woman, and child in Gotham is terminally depressed, so maybe it's not much of a leap from "depressed" to "deranged".

You don't swim with sharks unless you've done your research. I know their likes and their dislikes. I know what gets their panties in a bunch, and what cools them off. Useful information like that. Nowadays it's not that important. I'm an outgoing blonde with a nice rear and a long list of incarcerations at Arkham, so I'm acceptable to them. Plus Ivy can be a real terror on the occasions when Woodrue locks her out (or throws her out), and I'm just about the only other person who can calm her down. Ivy on the warpath? Give Quinn a call.

Ivy . . . I was saying something about her, wasn't I? Oh, the file. I update the files with my Arkham passwords. It pays to know what the other wackos are talking about.

A while back I read a story by Hawthorne titled Rappacini's Daughter. It's about this scientist who raises his little girl around poisonous plants, and eventually instead of killing her, the toxins get into her bloodstream and turn her into a poisonous person. She kills with a touch, and at the same time she's the perfect picture of health.

That, I realized later, was Ivy.

The first time I saw her after I traded in my lab coat for tassels, I was sitting at a table in the Iceberg Lounge. Nobody really paid me any mind, especially since I didn't have my mask on. Back then, before I got my custom-made suit, I couldn't eat or drink anything while I was wearing the homemade mask. Everything tasted like powder.

People just took me for a new groupie, or a wanna-be villain, and went about their business. I didn't sit there with stars in my eyes every time somebody like the Riddler or the Scarecrow walked by. After you've heard them rant in group therapy a few times, you never look at them the same again.

Then Poison Ivy strolled in. I later learned she was there to set up a meeting between Ozzie and the Moronic Man. Naturally he couldn't be bothered to show up himself, so he sent Pammy in as if she was the hired flunky he treated her like. I also later learned to get _really_ irritated by that.

Anyway, Ivy struts into a room filled with men - aka, filthy animals who were killing the Green - and women - aka, stupid whores who allowed men to do what they liked.

When I read Rappacini's Daughter, I thought of this moment, seeing her like this. Once again she was clad in leaves that barely covered her waist and her breasts, her skin a rich green, her hair a luxuriant red. She gave off a faint aroma that was pleasing, like flowers, and at the same time metallic, like poison. I felt a trifle ill.

Ivy has that effect on people. She claims it's from her breath, but I think she secretes it from her pores like an insect sending out pheromones. Around Ivy, people can get a little queasy. They look sick, and Ivy's lush beauty looks even better by comparison.

She can control it, to a degree. The A-list rogues, those who have the reputations to match her "rosebud" Jason, never get sick from being near Ivy. It's a sign that Jason respects them, even if he dislikes them. Ivy doesn't even give them her respect, but out of slavish devotion to Jason, she holds back when she's around them. Henchmen are still fair game.

Anyway, if you think seeing this woman enter my cramped doctor's office at Arkham in her asylum uniform was a turn-on, imagine seeing her like this now, the jungle predator in control of her surroundings. I almost let my drink dribble onto my motley.

And then she took a small detour and came over to my table. I shifted my legs uncomfortably. I felt flushed, like an orchid in one of her tropical greenhouses. "Yeah?" I croaked, my mouth dry enough for cacti to grow there.

Ivy sneered at me. "You tramp," she said.

I gaped at her. What, could she smell me like I smelled her?

"I know how you lusted after my Jason in Arkham," she went on, "and now you think by putting on a costume and pulling a themed crime or two, you can make him yours? You pathetic fool, he'll never look twice at you."

If the sight of Poison Ivy was an aphrodisiac, the sound of her was a cold shower.

And I distinctly felt my nausea increase a few notches after Ivy went on her way, satisfied that she'd stamped out yet another contender for the title of "Jason's Dearest Petal". I scurried to the ladies' room and spent a few minutes trying not to throw up.

You would THINK that would be the end of it.

Four days later, she showed up on my doorstep. It was pouring rain, and the only thing keeping her from looking like a drowned rat was the pride she clung to.

"Oh jeez," I said. "Look, I'm not interested in Woodrue, honest. So if this is where you give me a boiled rabbit in a pot or something, just don't, okay?"

"Of course you're interested," Ivy sniffed. Actually it was more of a sniffle. "All women want my Jason."

Then her face crumbled, and I realized that until then, she'd been doing a good job of desperately clinging to her dignity and not showing it. "But I want him more than any of them. Doesn't he see that?" she whimpered.

Poison Ivy whimpers. Believe me, I've seen it. It's not a pretty sight.

I didn't need a soaking wet drama queen who could turn me on and off like a light switch in my hideout, but she was one of the most feared people in Gotham and I was still trying to make a name for myself. She obviously didn't want to ask to come in, no matter how badly she wanted out of the storm. I sighed. "Would you like to come inside?" I asked.

"I don't know," Ivy said, and I pretended I didn't hear her teeth chatter. "Do you call this hovel a hideout?"

"It would be an honor," I grumbled.

"Very well." Ivy swept in like the diva she fancied herself, but when I closed the door, shutting the wind and rain out, I could see her shiver with relief. "I can't stay long," she added. "Soon my rosebud will call me back to him."

"Good, because I've only got the one bed and I'd rather it didn't get wet," I replied.

"Hmph," she said. "Like I would spend the night in this roach-infested wreck."

She was there two days. It was like one of those sitcoms where the snooty relative comes to stay and finds fault with everything. A _bad_ sitcom. And I'm a great judge of what's funny. This wasn't funny.

It didn't help that by the next morning, my body was saying, "How about we share the bed instead of me taking the couch?" while my mind was saying, "How about giving me my bed back and leaving me the hell alone?"

Apparently a botanical experiment had failed miserably, completely throwing Woodrue's timetable for a heist all to hell. Naturally Ivy had done something wrong when he wasn't watching her every move. Naturally Ivy agreed with him, and during those two days she was prone to indulge in bouts of self-loathing where she labeled herself a failure as a lover and sidekick, and Jason was right to throw her out. Other times she wailed that she couldn't live without him, and then I had to physically console her.

I thought I was an odd choice, considering she knew me only well enough to accuse me of plotting to steal her boyfriend.

"Well," she sighed, "obviously I had to take refuge somewhere in the storm."

"You guys have, like, five or six hideouts," I pointed out. "Why not just go to an unoccupied one?"

"Oh, I couldn't!" she said. "The plants there would inform him of my presence, and he would be so angry with me."

"Oh-kay," I said slowly. Sure, the plants would just send him a text message. That was before I was introduced to some of their genetic experiments on plants. Now I know that if I tried breaking in to one of his greenhouses, he'd be there in fifteen minutes. Probably not enough time to kill me before the plant life did. "A hotel then. You've got plenty of money"  
"And broadcast my shame to the world? Hardly," she scoffed.

"You must have friends," I pointed out, trying not to choke on the words. There was no way this woman could have friends.

"Any man would just try to take advantage of me," Ivy said hatefully. "And the women in Gotham - they're just so catty."

The only other woman of consequence in Gotham's underworld was Catwoman. From what I'd heard, she had a forceful personality, and probably wouldn't take any of Pam's bullshit.

"So you came to me because - "

"Well, I wasn't going to say this," Ivy replied, "but you're the only woman I know who wouldn't dare refuse me."

"Why?" I asked. Once again, fool that I am, I thought she sensed the physical effect she had on me.

"You're too new at this. You didn't have the power to turn me away and not suffer for it later," Ivy said matter-of-factly.

She was right. That WAS why I let her in.

"So how did you know where to find me?" I asked.

Ivy just gave me a look that suggested no tidbit of information was not within her grasp. Then she went over to the window and sunned herself.

I just prayed this was a one-time spat between the "golden couple" of the underworld.

As usual, the joke was on the clown. A month later, after Pammy crashed with me at a different hideout - three days this time - I did a little digging. It turned out that Woodrue "fired" and "rehired" his personal love slave every few months. Seems the star quarterback and the homecoming queen were a trifle dysfunctional. The biggest joke was, everyone knew it. Ivy was deluding herself - what a surprise! - when she claimed that she didn't dare let the "secret" out that she'd been dumped by her boyfriend.

I went on a bit of a crime spree after that. I made sure they were headline-grabbers. I also acquired my signature equipment from new contacts in the black market, including my special laughing gas from my pal, the comedic chemist. I hit a series of improv nights with nothing more than Smiley gas, a loot bag, and a phone book. You'd be surprised how funny "Mary Smith" sounds when you've had a whiff of Smiley.

I also spray-painted moustaches on the private art collection of one of the biggest stuffed-shirts in town. It worked for Daffy Duck. I bet the fat cat would have found it amusing too, if he wasn't so upset about how much the restoration would cost. I tell ya, they should thank me for taking the money off their hands. Obviously being rich kills your sense of humor.

And I introduced Batman to my Mega Joy Buzzer. He was out long enough for me to write "JUST MARRIED" on the rear windshield of the Batmobile. Ha, like anybody would marry him!

Of course, then he came up behind me and took my toys away, so I guess he didn't get the joke. He never does.

A few days after I used one of my memorized escape routes to break out of Arkham, Pammy showed up for the third time. I let her stay, but I was getting tired of hearing the same lines over and over. Even a good joke gets old, and Ivy wasn't even funny the first time. I swore this would be the last time. A trip to the Iceberg confirmed that I was making a name for myself, and I figured the next time I saw her fighting tears on my back step, I'd be able to stare her down and send her somewhere else.

Two months later, Ivy made her usual pilgrimage to my latest hideout. She must have kept close tabs on me to find me every time. It was almost like she was waiting for Jason's next outburst. And a rational woman would, but she always claimed this was the last time she would fail him.

When I opened my door, she had a black eye, a bloody nose, and a bleeding wound in her right forearm from where he'd stabbed her.

There was no way I could say no, and when she thanked me later that night after I patched her up, I knew I'd never turn her away again. And not because of any Hippocratic Oath, either.

When the sounds coming out of her mouth were, for the first time, as sweet as the charms she displayed, I was doomed to fall for her.

All it took was a "thank you".

A clown does live for the applause, after all.

To be continued . . .

(Author's Note - Rappacini's Daughter was written by Nathaniel Hawthorne. You can find it over the Internet.)


	5. Chapter 4

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (4)  
Author: Allaine

Disclaimers: All characters are property of DC Comics.  
No profit intended, etc., etc.  
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 4

I believe I've mentioned the Iceberg Lounge? Nice place, if you're one of those people society considers "bad guys". Personally, I don't think I'm a bad guy. First, I'm doing a public service. Second, I'm a "gal", not a "guy". Ha!

Anyway, you can walk in and order a drink in your tassels. Plus, anything you do or say pretty much hits the underworld grapevine within two hours. If you want the other "Rogues" and "Freaks" to know something, you do it at the Iceberg.

Here, I'm known as a bit of a lush. It helps the image. The idea is to be liked, without being taken too seriously. I'm the clown girl, right? Life of the party? It's a precaution, it really is. Otherwise people might try to kill me. Maybe getting beat on is Ivy's thing, but not me!

. . . I can't believe I just thought that. Jason is the one I hate, not her. But she just drives me up the WALL sometimes.

Anyway, except for the rare occasion where I really _want_ to get drunk - usually due to the aforementioned plant duo - I bounce in, sit at the bar, and order a Jack and Coke. The bartenders know - when Quinn orders "Jack and coke", hold the "Jack".

I drink a few of those, pretend to get completely smashed, and usually end up in somebody's lap. It's common knowledge that I have a thing for ears when I'm drunk. Then Penguin leads me into his office so I can sleep it off. Most people, he just shows the door. But I'm one of the "special" clientele, so I get the office.

Once I'm inside, we do business. Which is why I'm there in the first place. After Ozzie, wily bird that he is, figured out just how much of the "bubbleheaded blonde bimbo" was an act, it was silly pretending otherwise with him. But only in private.

Not to mention, he stopped looking down his nose at me when he figured it out. Oswald's such a snob.

And that, my friend, is the long answer of how I ended up in Harvey Two-Face's lap tonight, playing with his scarred ear. (By the way, ICK!)

The short answer is he was the closest guy to the bar. Well, the Riddler was pretty close too, but ever since he started dating the new henchwench, I've learned not to play with him. They say she keeps a jaguar for a pet, and I know she's the jealous type.

"You know what we've always appreciated about you, Harl?" Two-Face was growling as Penguin waddled over to our table.

"What's that, Hah-vey?"

"Your lines - of symmetry," he answered, letting his eyes travel down the length of my body. Naturally he likes how my costume is bisected down the middle and along the waist. It's kinda like his suit. Of course, his leer slowed down a little as he examined how the line passes evenly between my breasts.

That's me, life of the party.

"Really, Miss Quinn," Penguin said dryly from behind, and I faked a guilty leap out of Harvey's lap. It was more grateful than guilty. "I suppose I should be grateful you've never manhandled my staff with your earlobe fetish."

"Sorry, Pengy," I slurred, backpedaling and almost capsizing someone else's table.

"You weren't interrupting anything, Penguin," Two-Face grumbled.

"I noticed that Miss Quinn was taking an exceptional interest in the left side of your body. I thought I would intervene before your other half became jealous and started a fight," Oswald Cobblepot said smugly.

"I coulda taken the wuss," Two-Face retorted.

"I am certain. Miss Quinn, perhaps you'd do better on the couch?"

"You my therapist, Ozzie?" I started giggling, as if this was the funniest thing in the world. In fact, it was very not funny, and I felt ashamed for saying it. Sometimes I have to make sacrifices, even if it means not spreading humor to the world.

Oswald smiled thinly. "As the only person here who's never been found legally insane, I suppose I'm most qualified."

That was only slightly funnier than my line, but I laughed like he was Richard Pryor. At the rate I was going, I would have to toilet paper the Gotham Stock Exchange if I was going to feel good about myself again.

I waved coyly to Harvey as I was led gingerly back to the Penguin's office. Nothing against Ozzie, because he's got plenty of brains and, as he said, he's not exactly handicapped with a twisted sense of reality - but he's short, and it's weird being led around by him. Like I'm a guest in a house, and the host's twelve-year-old son is showing me to my room.

"Thanks," I said as he closed the door behind us. "Harvey's ear is like the world's biggest scab."

"Wouldn't Mr. Nigma have been a more pleasant selection?"

"The 'matchmakers' got quiet after the new Echo took care of her predecessors. Why should I set their tongues wagging again?"

He chuckled. "Quite. Indeed."

A while back, right after I'd made a name for myself, some genius had decided that I would be perfect as Edward Nigma's sidekick for several reasons. Eddie and I agreed they were all perfectly asinine, but few others did.

One reason was that my "jokes" would be a good match for his riddles. People don't get how opposite they really are. Riddles are head-scratchers. Jokes are thigh-slappers. Riddles have to be explained, whereas everybody knows that if you have to explain the joke, it isn't funny. Riddler looks down on my jokes as juvenile. I say a riddle is what happens when you make a joke three times as long and remove all the humor.

The other two reasons were sorta related. Eddie is a pretty smart guy - if you ignore the limitations imposed by his insanity, including his self-defeating compulsion to tell the Bat where he'll be tomorrow night with riddles the Bat _always_ manages to solve. But even with his trick cane, he's no terror in a fistfight. Hence the need for henchmen who could buy him time to finish the heist and get away.

For a few years Riddler used a couple girls he named "Query" and "Echo". They were busty, physical types with a penchant for fishnets and tight leather. Apparently the relationship was sexual as well as professional. Whether or not he did it as part of a game of one-upsmanship with the Floronic Man, who merely had one gorgeous sidekick sharing his bed, I don't know. What I do know is that people, even Rogues at the Iceberg, began whispering that I could protect Eddie with my acrobatic fighting skills. And my outfit left no doubt that I fit his alleged requirement that his henchwench be beautiful.

I don't know if that's really a requirement. Eddie and I don't talk much anymore. Whenever we exchanged two words, people started saying we were going to join forces again. Nobody really understood that I didn't WANT to be a sidekick. Back then, the only other woman who committed crimes on her own was Catwoman, and she kept a lower profile than most. Compared to Ivy, Query, and Echo, I was viewed as an aberration.

Okay, so most Rogues are viewed as aberrations. Let's say I was viewed as a BIGGER one.

Anyway. besides making us the barest of acquaintances, the rumors also earned me the hostility of Query and Echo, who really did have quite the gutter mouths. Penguin once suggested that if the rumors really came true, at least he wouldn't have to see those two tramps in his establishment again.

As it happened, that wasn't necessary. The new Echo came out of nowhere, stole Nigma's heart, and drove those two bitches out of Gotham. For that, I can certainly stop myself from falling into her boyfriend's arms in the future. And I remain my happy, independent self.

Although I wouldn't mind stealing a page from the Riddler's playbook. I could have a partner, someone to watch my back during a job - or wash my back in the shower. Maybe a buxom redhead with a face that launched a thousand police cars . . .

I realized I had missed Penguin's last words. If I daydreamed like that more, he'd start thinking I was an airhead again. "What was that again, Ozzie?" I asked, banishing one last naughty mental image of Pammy "assisting" me.

"So," he repeated with annoyance, "are we here to buy - or sell?"

"Trade."

"Ahh," he murmured. "You'll have to start, you know."

I sighed. Penguin would hear my information, then tell me what he knew. Some of it, anyway. He'd claim he knew most of it already, and give me only crumbs in exchange. Pengy loved being a broker of all things, including information, and he was proud of his haggling ability.

"There's a new hacker in town, calling themselves the Oracle," I began.

"I know," he said dismissively. "He - or she - has taken it upon themselves to clean cyberspace of hackers."

So Spoiler wasn't the only one. "And the Oracle has hired muscle."

The Penguin looked interested, and I knew we'd entered new territory for him. "Protection?"

"More offensive than defensive. I was - helping a friend, and the Oracle thought I was the target. So she - "

"You're sure the Oracle's a she?"

"I'm assuming it. Oracles were women historically."

"People lie on the Internet all the time, my dear," Penguin observed. "If they say they're female, generally the opposite is true."

"So what, I'm suppose to say 'he or she' from now on?"

The Penguin grunted. "Go on."

"_She_ sent two do-gooders after me. One of them I'd never heard of."

"Bats?"

"Not exactly. This should appeal to you, one was a bird. And not the Boy Wonder, either."

Penguin took a deep breath. "The Black Canary is in Gotham? How - stimulating."

I rolled my eyes. A tall, stacked blonde named after a bird. Naturally he was captivated by her. "The other one, Canary called the Phantasm. Creepy guy - "

"The Phantasm? You're sure?"

He'd gone from excited in a good way to excited in a bad way in two seconds, and I looked at him suspiciously. "Comes and goes in a cloud of smoke, skull mask, wields a hook?"

Penguin leaned back in his chair. "That's the Phantasm. I thought I'd never hear that name again."

"Who the heck is the Phantasm?"

"My dear, you should know, considering you fraternize with Poison Ivy. The Phantasm was our very first killer vigilante. He tried to murder the Floronic Man."

I gaped. I'd never heard that, not even in all my precious psychiatrists' files.

"Oh, yes," he said, relishing the act of storytelling more than the role of information broker. "Tried a couple times, then vanished like the smoke he uses to move through space, however he manages THAT little trick. It never made the papers, because the police hushed it up. Some think Woodrue killed him instead, although I doubt it. He'd have bragged about it. I say the Bat ran him out of town. No killers on his watch."

"Then why is the Judge still out there?" I asked quietly.

Penguin frowned. The Judge was a sore topic. He'd once tried to kill Ozzie with a sword and a giant gavel. Killer Croc and Harvey were also on his list of near-misses. "I wonder that myself," he said. "At any rate, won't Woodrue be tickled pink when he gets the news?"

I almost told him I was sorry the Phantasm didn't succeed years ago, but I didn't. You didn't joke about other Rogues being killed by vigilantes. It struck too close to home. "How'd Woodrue survive, anyway?" I asked instead.

"Why, Ivy saved him, of course."

Of course.

* * *

"I've got bad news, and I've got good news that could be misconstrued as bad news," I told Barbara Gordon the next day.

The Spoiler looked at me. "What's the bad news?"

"The Oracle is still out there, and I don't know who she is."

"And the 'good' news?"

"I do know who she has working for her."

Barbara blinked. "What?"

"I got jumped by a couple costumed do-gooders last night. Ever heard of Black Canary?"

She nodded. She looked pale.

"How about the Phantasm?"

Barbara gasped.

"I guess that's a yes. Geez, was I the last to know?"

"My father - I hacked into my father's files a few years ago," Barbara said quietly. "I read about the Phantasm. They say he kills. How could this possibly be GOOD news?"

"Well," I said brightly, "we know more now than we did before!"

Barbara groaned.

"Look," I said, "it's not as if you're living hand to mouth without your hacking gigs. Why not take a couple weeks' off? Because frankly, improved security isn't going to matter. If the Oracle can afford to hire those two, she'll always have the better computers, the better technology."

"You're not helping!" she retorted, her voice muffled because her arms were folded on the desk and her forehead was resting on them.

"I'm trying!" I said defensively. "They think I'm YOU, so they'll come after me again. Hopefully, next time I see them, I can get access to the Oracle." Oracles and computer hackers - the next person who says "There is no spoon" gets a boxing glove in the nose.

"Better yet," I added, "maybe I can pull a crime so big that the Bat shows up too."

"Why would that be better?"

"I hear the Bat and the Phantasm didn't exactly hit it off the first time. Maybe if the Phantasm takes a swing at me with that hook of his, the Bat will take him down instead."

"_Hook_!"

Oops. Guess Daddy's files weren't complete.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ivy!"

"Harley," she said with more warmth than she used with anyone else other than Jason and whatever plant she happened to be near. "How are you?"

"Laughing every minute," I said cheerfully. "Want to catch a movie tonight?"

If the Phantasm had plans to give his old pal Jason Woodrue a ring, I didn't want Pammy there. Partly because she'd be in danger, and partly because I didn't want her saving his sorry behind like the last time.

"Not tonight," she replied casually. "Rosebud's feeling frisky today."

Ewww.

"He told me to forget about the fig leaves today and walk about the hideout like I was Eve in the Garden."

This was a much more pleasant image, but the idea of Jason's eyes crawling all over Ivy's nude body as a prelude to putting his hands on her . . . I'd stopped feeling nauseous around Ivy a long time ago. Now the streak was over, and she didn't even have to be in the same building to pull it off.

And sometimes Woodrue employed henchmen! If he was having her parade her charms in front of a bunch of slimy hoodlums -

"Harley? Are you still there?"

I realized I was strangling the phone. Slowly I unclenched my hand. "Yeah, I'm here," I said. "It's all right, actually I have some smiles to take care of anyway."

"That's good, Harley. Oh, I have to go. My mighty oak beckons. We'll do lunch later! Ta ta."

My mighty . . . ugh!

I threw the phone down and didn't care about the dial tone. Why? Why! What was the allure? Why did she obey his every command like he was some kind of Svengali? I'd asked myself that question a hundred times. Especially after those nights when I held and comforted her after a particularly bad breakup. The pain of her injuries was always less than the emotional pain of her separation. Even when I kissed her tears away and she desperately took my lips in hers, I knew she was trying to take her mind off Jason. I sensed she was never more than half-successful, either. Harvey would appreciate that, but not me.

She probably didn't even know I wanted her. She just thought I was giving her what she needed, because that was what friends (and servants) did - whatever she asked.

Could this be the fabled true love that made her worship him so?

It couldn't be! She was a completely different person around him! Love didn't transform a person the way illegal chemicals transformed Clayface!

Was it drugs? Could Ivy even BE drugged? Because she certainly couldn't be poisoned. Was it hypnosis? A microchip courtesy of the Mad Hatter? Some kind of weird Oedipal complex, the creation in love with her creator?

To understand, I needed to understand Poison Ivy. I knew Pamela Isley. I needed to know the thing Woodrue had created. What exactly was this beautiful flower with poison in its stem?

I went to the rudimentary bathroom and dug through my toiletries. My hairbrush yielded plenty of blonde hairs - and a single red strand.

"Do Not Assume," I murmured. "DNA."

I needed more Smiley gas anyway for tonight's big score, a.k.a. bait for the Phantasm. Maybe my friend the chemist could give me answers.

Or at least a good laugh. He's good for that.

To be continued . . .

Author's Note - the women described in Riddler's life were all inspired by the story "Harlots of Hades" by the fanfic author Query, as well as her overall body of work. I was hoping to get her permission for a more official appearance by "Dee", but I didn't hear from her, so I will have to settle for this homage. You can find her work here at FFN.


	6. Chapter 5

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (5)

Author: Allaine

Email: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.

Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.

Distribution: If you want it, just ask.

Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 5

"Are you sure I can't interest you in the new and improved version?" the chemist wheedled. "Smile-X. Good for what ails you - life!"

"Just the usual, thanks," I replied, tucking a canister of Smile-Y laughing gas, aka Smiley, into my bag. A leather wallet containing several pellets followed it in. "Besides, don't you always say that death is easy but comedy's hard? I wouldn't want people to think I wasn't up to the challenge any more."

My chemist sulked. He was a handsome guy, except a nose like a bird's beak, and I couldn't bear to see him sully it with a frown. "C'mon, there must be other customers who'd be interested in poison gas."

"Poison LAUGHING gas, my dear," he pointed out. "No self-respecting Rogue would use that. They'd be accused of copying you. Just look at Cluemaster!"

He had a point. Cluemaster was a second-rate ripoff of the Riddler, and a symbol of derision within the underworld community. If Gotham were high school, he'd be the guy who gets shoved into lockers.

"Besides," he added, sighing, "I designed it for YOU. The least you could do is use it on a daycare center or something!"

"Speaking of challenges," I said, ignoring his complaining. He was prone to histrionics. "Do you have any experience with DNA analysis?"

"Not much," he admitted grudgingly. "I farm that work out to a different lab."

I reached into my bag and pulled out a tiny glass vial. "Then I want a complete genetic workup on this strand of hair," I said. "It's been tampered with. I want to know how, and I want to know exactly what was done."

"It'll cost a few more smackers than your usual orders," he murmured as he took the vial.

"Monopoly money still good with you?"

"Always," he said absently. "Throw in a Get Out of Jail Free card and we're even . . . whose hair is it?"

"That's not important," I told him.

He smiled finally. "This looks like a _red_ hair."

I swallowed. He'd heard me vent about Ivy too.

"Why Harley," he said with a grin, "what plans do you have for this hair? Putting it inside a golden locket, perhaps?"

"If I take the stupid Smilex, will you drop this?" I muttered.

"A-hahahahaha!" he cackled. "I knew it! This belongs to your little passion fruit, doesn't it!"

I felt my cheeks burning to match my costume. "I'm trying to figure out what kind of whammy the Floronic Man put on Pammy, okay!"

"From her hair," the chemist chortled. "Mind-control hair care products. I suppose this gives new meaning to the phrase 'brainwashing'. Or perhaps those Herbal Essence commercials aren't an exaggeration?" Then he stopped. "Did you just use 'whammy' and 'Pammy' in the same sentence?"

I realized I had, unintentionally, and I nodded.

That set off peals of uproarious laughter as he lurched backwards, holding his chest. "A whammy on Pammy! Ho ho ho!" he screeched. "Perhaps some barley beer for my Harley dear!"

"Can you do it or not?" I growled, mortified.

He wiped tears from his eyes. "Ah Harley, you always put a smile on my face," he said. "When I'm with you, my grin might as well be permanently frozen. Give me a couple days. Although you know," he added thoughtfully, "it's too bad you couldn't have brought me a drop of her blood. The poisons I could make from THAT!"

"I'm not having you run tests for your enjoyment," I retorted. Ivy always made me grumpy.

"Harley, you're pining away for the most unattainable woman in Gotham," he replied cruelly. "I find _anything_ involving that to be a source of amusement."

I stormed out with my supplies. This is why I use joy buzzers. Words can hurt a lot worse.

* * *

"I don't believe this."

I smiled. The primary motivation of my latest "crime" was to draw both the Batman and the Phantasm to the same location. I figured Batman would take her down, and that would be the end of Barbara's problems. The Oracle would be too busy to save her (or his) skin to worry about little ol' me.

"You really are insane."

The woman's voice behind me strongly suggested that one part of my plan had worked.

"You're actually toilet papering the _stock exchange_?"

Well, there was a second motivation. I told you I needed to do something after those horrible jokes at the Iceberg if I wanted to respect myself again.

Calmly I pulled two more rolls of my special toilet paper - one red, one black - and inserted them into the device I was carrying in both hands. "Just think of it as a tickertape machine gone berserk," I said as I turned around.

Black Canary was there, of course. She was the one talking to me. I had assumed that the Phantasm went where she did, and I was right. Marley's Ghost was standing just behind Canary and to her left. "Typical hacker," he said in a voice like the grave. "Except you don't limit your random malicious acts of vandalism to the Internet. You carry them out in the real world as well."

"I try to expand my horizons," I said modestly. "Maybe you could give me directions to the afterlife? I hear poltergeists have lots of fun."

"I can take you there myself," the Phantasm warned her.

"And the Dark Parakeet can be my link to the mortal realm!" I said.

The Phantasm didn't have a high threshold for banter, because he leapt toward me. I pointed my toilet-paper gun at him, but his hook clanged off the nozzle as I pulled the trigger, throwing off my aim.

Twin streams of red and black paper coursed out toward Black Canary, quickly and efficiently wrapping around her legs from her thighs down past her knees. She fell over with a squawk (get it? Canary? Squawk?).

I wasn't too interested because I was using the mechanical device to defend myself from the Phantom's slashing hook. Another swing almost cleaved it in two. "Hey!" I said. "I didn't even pay that off yet!"

Then I tumbled out of the way as the Phantasm silently pressed his attack. I could see that the Canary wasn't going to be much of a problem. She seemed to think she could tear the paper around her legs, but the laugh was on her. Those sheets of toilet paper were hand-quilted by tiny little women! Okay, maybe not, but they WERE made from a special polymer, and unless she had a good knife tucked away, she wasn't going to be walking anywhere soon.

Hurriedly I rummaged through my bag of goodies as I somersaulted backwards. Finding what I was looking for, I pulled out one of my other "non-lethal" guns. This one fired a weighted punching glove several feet before it retracted back into the barrel, and here it caught the Phantasm on the shoulder, making him spin about. He almost fell, but caught himself with one palm on the pavement.

"Why Phantasm anyway?" I asked, breathing lightly as he stood back up. "Why not Ghost? Wouldn't you rather be the 'ghost with the most' instead of - oh, I don't know, the 'phantasm with the most ectoplasm'?"

He didn't say anything. Maybe he was the Bat's younger brother. I banished that thought - if the Batman and the Phantasm were working together, then this night was going to be a disaster for me AND the Spoiler.

"Phantasm, look out!" Black Canary called out.

Both of us looked to the left - the wrong direction, as it turned out. I never even saw them coming, but I cried out and dropped my weapon as identical white bracelets flew out of the darkness and attached themselves to my wrists. The bigger surprise was when I felt an irresistible magnetic pull between the two, and I couldn't prevent my wrists from becoming hopelessly locked together.

"Oh, no!" I squeaked. I'd heard enough stories to know what had happened. Once again, I was the punchline. I was already fighting one homicidal vigilante. What was one more, right?

"Harley Quinn," the Judge intoned as he emerged from the shadows. He held a giant hammer shaped like a courtroom gavel in both hands. "I'm finding you in contempt."

"Contempt of you, ya big meanie!" I yelled back at him, stumbling backwards. With my arms locked into this position, my acrobatic abilities were being seriously limited.

When I wanted a dark, brooding crime fighter to show up, this was NOT what I had in mind!

"Contempt of others, contempt of institutions, and contempt of society," the Judge continued. As I'd heard, he was a tall gaunt figure in black faceless robes and a white judge's wig. "Are you prepared to receive sentence?"

"Hey, wait!" the Phantasm interjected, approaching him. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"Passing judgment on this prisoner, Phantasm," he replied. "Yes, I know you, Phantasm. I have read of your noble pursuit of the criminal known as the Floronic Man. I too have his name on my court docket. Perhaps if you would care to join forces, you and I could make sure he does not escape custody this time."

"Ivy," I thought to myself, panicked. If these two came after Woodrue, she was in real danger.

"You mean kill him," the Phantasm said.

"I mean _execute_ him."

"And I suppose you're here to execute Quinn as well?"

He gestured at the stock exchange. "You see how she mocks our most venerable institutions? Even the courthouse has not been immune to her vandalism."

Guess I shouldn't have left thumbtacks on all the judge's benches at the federal courthouse last month. I thought the criminals could use a good laugh, considering they wouldn't get many of those in prison.

"That doesn't mean she deserves to die!" the Phantasm shot back.

"Says the guy with the hook for a hand," I muttered.

"Shut up!" he hissed at me.

"I'm the fact finder here," the Judge replied. "If you won't help me, then stand aside. I can take care of her from here."

"No," the Phantasm said. "I've changed. I don't kill, and I don't sit back and let others kill either."

"This is serious," the Judge warned. "You could be charged with accessory after the fact, perhaps even aiding and abetting a known fugitive."

"Let me guess - the penalty is death for both? I think you need to be impeached."

The Judge looked at him for a moment. Then he reached into his robes and hurled yet another set of manacles at the Phantasm. The Phantasm calmly knocked the first one aside with his hook, causing it to veer aside and collide with the second. They locked together and fell harmlessly to the ground.

I leapt away and allowed the two to duke it out. Canary was still trying to free her legs, but her attempts were basically useless. Whereas I was trying to free my _arms_, but I could tell I wasn't going to do any better. I had to run before something else bad happened, like Batman showing up. I'd never get away from him like this.

Now was a good time to run, though. The Phantasm and the Judge had completely forgotten about me, they were so busy fighting each other. The Judge was winning, too. His hammer gave him a much longer reach than the Phantasm, and his added height created an additional advantage. As I watched, he lashed out with his foot, knocking Phantasm's legs out from under him.

If the Judge killed the Phantasm, the Oracle wouldn't be much of a threat any more.

But there was nothing funny about this. And if there's one thing I can't resist, it's lightening the mood.

Digging through my bag, I pulled out a black sphere. It was simple enough to activate, even with my wrists cuffed together. I just gave it a good shake. "Hey, Wapner!" I called out.

The Judge looked at me, looming over the Phantasm with his hammer in the air. Canary's mouth was agape. At the time, I thought she was about to scream, but later I realized she'd been going to unleash her "canary cry", even though she might hit the Phantasm too.

"Catch!"

I flung the ball at him, and reflexively he caught it, perhaps afraid it would explode or shatter if he didn't. He peered at it. "Your . . . future appears cloudy?"

My patented Magic 8-Ball Smoke Bomb went off in his hand, surrounding both of the fashionably gruesome vigilantes in dense clouds of smoke. I giggled as I grabbed my things and started running. "The answer appears to be yes!" I called over my shoulder.

I didn't know what happened to Phantasm, but I did know that "the Spoiler" wasn't the only one being hunted. Peachy.

* * *

Ivy opened her door wearing nothing but a sheet. She bore a look of intense frustration. I thought for a moment that it was because I had interrupted her and Jason - yuck! "Did I come at a bad time?" I sighed. I tried not to get aroused.

"Yes, but it's not like you're interrupting anything," Ivy pouted, and I realized she was feeling unhappy AND confused, as well as frustrated. This was how she got when Jason was cruel to her. She always tried to make him happy, and yet it seemed she was always doing something wrong. "I _begged_ Rosebud to make love to me, but he - "

"Too much information!" I cried out, trying to put my hands over my ears before I remembered they were still locked together.

No matter how wrapped up Ivy was in her own problems, there was no way she could fail to see that. "Harley?" she asked. "What happened?"

"Oh, the Judge decided to make me his latest defendant," I quipped.

Ivy actually appeared concerned. I know, it's a shock. Sometimes I forget she cares about me. When she makes me remember, it warms my body, and that night was no exception.

Of course, I was already warm. Like I said, she was only wearing a sheet.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked.

"Only if you can't get these off," I told her, keeping my hands raised. "Then I might throw my back out trying to get out of my outfit."

"Come in," Ivy told me, turning away. "How did you escape?"

"Someone got in his way."

"The Bat?"

"No," I said carefully. "The Phantasm."

Ivy froze and gasped, almost letting go of the sheet. It slipped several inches downward, revealing a mere sliver of her firm buttocks. I almost bit through my tongue.

I had thought about whether or not to tell Ivy about the Phantasm. Better if the Floronic Man was caught unawares when the Phantasm came calling a third time. Woodrue would be tomorrow's fertilizer. It was wishful thinking, however. There was no way Ivy would allow that to happen. Either the Phantasm would fail once more, or Ivy would be the first to die. And if that happened, I might as well hang up the tassels. Like the song says, there are few things sadder than the tears of a clown.

Besides, the Phantasm had indicated that he was no longer killing people. So I'd be putting Ivy in harm's way for nothing.

Ivy raised her free hand and rubbed her head awkwardly. I knew she had a scar across her scalp there, and I'd always assumed that Woodrue had left it there. Now, however, I was struck by an unpleasant thought. "I was told you had a couple of close encounters with the Phantasm," I said to her.

She nodded. "She wanted my rosebud dead, Harley. I don't know what I would have done if she had succeeded - taken my own life, perhaps. But I was victorious, and we never saw her again."

"Is that how you got that scar?" I asked.

Ivy dropped her hand guiltily when she realized what she'd been doing. "Yes," she admitted. "Tried to take my head off with that hook. I was lucky."

Now I was sorry I'd possibly saved the Phantasm's life. I should have left her to the Judge . . . "Wait, did you say the Phantasm's a _girl_?"

"You didn't know?" Ivy asked.

"I tried not to get close enough to find out," I admitted.

"Oh. Well, I have. The Phantasm's definitely female."

"Righty-o. Um, Pammy? Maybe you should skip town for a few days?"

"Absolutely not!" Ivy said instantly. "I must remain at my rosebud's side until that madwoman comes back!"

I was afraid of that.

"Besides," Ivy added, "if I leave, you'll be all alone. You did say the Phantasm was after you too, right?"

I was shocked. "Uh, no, I didn't. But she's tracking me down, her and the Black Canary."

Ivy frowned as she took some seeds from a small box and spilled them over my cuffs. She licked her finger with her tongue and - besides unintentionally turning me on, something she does a lot - rubbed it across the seeds, causing them to burst into green. I could feel tiny roots burrowing through the technology in my manacles, and within moments there was a short, and they fell uselessly from my wrists. "If my love was not a potential target, I'd come home with you, just to make sure you got there safely," she said.

I blushed under my mask. "Aw, Red," I mumbled.

"Her name is Ivy."

"Eep!" I jumped, startled.

"Rosebud," Ivy said happily, her eyes glowing. Her rosebud was an abusive jerk. He didn't deserve to make her eyes light up like that. Why couldn't I do that? "Yes, he's right, Harley. I've told you before that my name is Ivy, not Red." She chuckled. "If either of us should be called Red, it's you," she pointed out, gesturing to my costume.

"Sorry," I muttered, staring at Jason Woodrue. I think he was born with a sinister look. Or maybe it was just because he hated me. I often wonder why he doesn't have my killed, so Ivy will be completely dependent on him once more. My best guess is he finds me mildly useful as Ivy's "caretaker" whenever he's broken her heart for the umpteenth time.

Who am I kidding? Ivy IS completely dependent on him. I haven't been able to reduce the hold he has over her, and don't think I haven't tried. I'm just a gnat to him.

That's why we cordially despise each other. And why I've got geeks in lab coats looking at Ivy's hair - hopefully with six kinds of microscopes and one of those electric tweezers from Operation!

"Why is she here?" Woodrue demanded rudely.

"She had news for us," Ivy told him quietly. "The Phantasm is back in town. I thought we'd never see her again, Jason," she added, her face growing worried once more.

Woodrue frowned. "She failed before," he replied pompously. "I expect you will defend our home to your last breath for me?" At last he favored her with a smile

"Oh, of course!" she said rapturously. "I'd die before seeing you come to any harm."

He just nodded. Her devotion was something to be expected, not appreciated. He treated their plants the same way. The hideout was filled with foliage, of course, and I noticed once again how the flowers and plants _bowed_ to him, as if he were their king. Whereas they caressed Ivy as she walked past, like a mother.

Her love was a privilege he didn't deserve, and yet he treated it like it was his birthright. If she ever gave me a chance, I'd work to earn it for the rest of my days.

Easy to say that, when it'd never happen.

"Thanks for the help, Ivy," I said glumly.

"Please be careful, Harley," she told me.

"Yes, Harley," Jason added, coming over. He put an arm around Ivy's shoulders and squeezed her close. "Be careful. And be on your way. I'm feeling _frisky_ all of a sudden."

I was forgotten. I wasn't sure which was worse - his smug words, or the look of joy on her face.

I didn't know how much more I could take of that. And my mood worsened the next morning when I heard on the news that while I was trying to lure Batman to the stock exchange, he had been off saving the world with the Justice League. At least maybe the Judge's attack on the Phantasm would keep Oracle distracted for now, but the Oracle was more Barbara's problem than mine, and I couldn't get too excited over that silver lining. Not even the reports of frantic stockbrokers crowding the streets cheered me up.

It seemed like I was only laughing on the outside lately.

Two days later, when all I wanted to do was sit around and eat ice cream until I couldn't fit into my suit anymore, I got a call from the chemist. He asked me to come over.

And everything changed.

Maybe the cosmos has a sense of humor after all.

To be continued . . .


	7. Chapter 6

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (6)

Author: Allaine

Email: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.

Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.

Distribution: If you want it, just ask.

Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 6

Whap. Whap. Whap.

I'm not averse to having jokes played on me, you know. Otherwise I'd be little better than the humorless dweebs I targeted. But when somebody tells you to come right away, and then keeps you waiting in their antechamber for _thirty minutes_ like a doctor with one too many patients, that is NOT funny. It's downright cruel.

Of course, my pal the chemist has a cruel sense of humor.

Whap. Whap. Whap.

Still, I clenched the handle of my paddleball a little tighter. Four hundred thirty-seven, four hundred thirty-eight, four hundred thirty-nine . . . if he wasn't out by five hundred, I was going to drag him out of his laboratory and whap my paddleball up his _nose_.

Luckily for him, I was only up to four hundred sixty-one when he came in, still wearing his white coat. "Awww," he said, taking in my dour expression, "why so glum, chum? Can't you see the laugh doctor is in?"

Just for that, I was going to keep counting. Four hundred sixty-two, four hundred sixty-three . . .

"Maybe a lollipop will turn that frown upside down?" he suggested, pulling one out of a pocket. Much to my surprise, the wrapper was blue. I guess I'd already told him about my preference for that color.

I finally set the child's toy aside and snatched the lollipop from his hand. "You took long enough," I grumbled. It was a Dum-Dum, I realized, as I tucked the candy into my mouth. Figures.

"It's a very pretty puzzle, your pretty friend's DNA," the chemist told me. "I had to run a few tests of my own. My muse is practically singing in my ear."

"My muse tops your muse," I told him. I showed him a wad of bills in one hand, and a closed fist with the other. "Where are my test results?"

"Hmph. Grouchy today. Nothing a little Smilex wouldn't cure."

"If I wanted a cure that badly," I replied, "a bullet would work just as well."

"True, true," he said, nodding sagely as he led me into his workroom. "Pammy's DNA is quite the bouquet, you know. The boys at the lab have the most sophisticated technology known to man on three different planets, and it took them hours to decipher them all."

"Them?"

"The Floronic Man is truly a genius," the chemist said. He said it with extreme reluctance, since both men were in the business of inventing clever toxins. "He's interspliced Pamela's human DNA with several strains of plant DNA, and not your common crabgrass either. Funny," he said. "I laid down twenty dollars she had crabgrass DNA. Looks like I lost, eh?" He cackled at his own wit.

I didn't join in. I was more than grouchy that day. My sense of humor was on strike. "Like what?" I asked.

"Oh, hemlock, belladonna, black nightshade, nux vomica, strychnos toxifera . . ."

I think he could tell by the look on my face that he'd lost me. "Strychnine and curare," he explained. "I have quantities of all these poisons in my lab."

I quickly spat the lollipop out and handed it back to him.

He grinned as he took it and threw it away. "It's a positive wonder she isn't dead," he continued. "But she's certainly more plant than human. I'm amazed to think Woodrue accomplished this on his first test subject." His eyes lit up. "I'd rather think your friend wasn't his first subject, though. It would soothe my ego."

I wondered how many women he poisoned to create Ivy, and I shivered.

"And there's something else," he added quietly.

The way he said it, I knew there was something wrong. "What?" I asked. My head rose so suddenly, I heard my tassels ringing.

"Well, there was also a mutated strain of _sunflower_."

"Sunflower?" I asked, bewildered. As far as I knew, sunflowers weren't deadly. "Mutated to do what? Eat flies with its tongue?"

"They couldn't say what the effect would be," he told me. "Perhaps it's the glue that holds the mess of poisons together in Pamela's DNA. Still, an odd choice. All I know about sunflowers is that they always turn to face the sun."

I just stared at him. Immediately I knew why.

Pammy was the sunflower. And I don't know how he did it, but the Floronic Man was the sun. When he genetically modified her, he didn't just create her to be deadly. He created her to be obedient. THAT was why she was always so inconsolable when they were apart. On some genetic level, she'd been _programmed_ to be unable to function without him near! He made her LOVE him!

For a moment I thought I'd been injured. I thought I'd been cut, and blood was dripping down my forehead and getting into my eyes. Then I realized I was seeing red, I was so mad.

Mad? I was fucking pissed!

"That bastard," I whispered, clenching my fists. "He knew exactly what he was getting when he made her. He wasn't taking ANY chances that she'd drop him like a moldy tangerine once she realized she was the stronger one. He wasn't just experimenting - he was creating her to be his sidekick!" I looked at the chemist. "I'll KILL him for that!"

"Oooh, goody," he said excitedly. "I finally have a test subject for my Smilex."

I just chuckled bitterly. "Sorry, doc, but you might have forgotten - poisons don't exactly work on him."

He looked disappointed. "Well, that's just not right! You finally abandon this silly notion about not taking a human life, and you can't even kill him properly now! It's so sad," he sighed. He tried to remove his handkerchief, but he poorly faked surprise when it kept coming out no matter how much he pulled it out.

I sat back down and waited for his dramatics to end. Who was I kidding? I couldn't kill him, period. If I snuffed out Ivy's sun, she'd never be happy again. And I couldn't do that to her, even if her being happy meant her being with HIM.

The chemist finally stopped trying to be funny, a small pile of white fabric at his feet. "Oh well, you could always just kill him in a highly amusing fashion. He IS a bit of a humorless, pompous ass, after all."

"Doc," I said, grasping at straws, "is there any way to undo her genetic tampering?" If I could deactivate the genetic signals telling her to love him, then maybe she wouldn't care if I killed Jason. Heck, she might even help me! Now that was a thought that made me feel happy inside!

"Funny you should say that," he said, his eyes lighting up again. "That was one of the ideas I had while I was waiting for you to arrive."

"YOU waited!"

"It'd be tricky," he admitted. "I'd need some time. BUT, with her DNA sample and these lab reports, I could whip up a special kind of antidote that would attack her DNA at a genetic level."

"That sounds good," I said hopefully.

"She might even be alive when it's through."

"Oh," I said, slumping again. "Might's not going to be enough."

"What'll you give me if I guarantee it?" he asked slyly.

I glared at him. "I'm paying you enough, aren't I?"

"Oh, what's a few dollars more, Harley? You know I'm in it for the laughs! If you want me to put all of my unpredictable, near-lunatic genius into this, I need a little incentive!" He paused. "And threats aren't it."

"I didn't threaten you!"

"No, but you had a distinctly unfunny look in your eye. Quite unlike you, my dear."

After all our times together, and he wanted more! Well, I'd give him more, but he was OFF the Christmas card list! "If I changed Ivy back, Woodrue wouldn't have his own personal laboratory any more," I suggested. "Then you'd be the undisputed maker of poisons in this city."

"Hm, nice," he admitted, "but killing her would accomplish the same purpose."

"She'd be with me instead of him! You talk about your ego all the time, imagine what it'd do to HIS!"

"Why Harley, you sound like you're assuming a lot! What will you do if your bosom buddy isn't interested once she's free? MAKE her love you, perhaps?" he asked with an evil smile.

I was seething now, but he'd raised an unpleasant point. Even if this worked, at some point I'd have to confess my feelings, and I had NO guarantee she'd respond favorably. "All right," I said through gritted teeth, "what would YOU suggest?"

"Me, Mr. Carson? You're letting me write the jokes tonight?" he asked innocently. "Harley, my dear comedienne, it should be perfectly obvious to you. I've been begging you to take this Smilex off my hands for months. Only you were meant to use it."

"I just _told_ you . . ."

"Right, right, right," he sniffed. "It won't work on him. Fine. If I can deliver you a cure for your dear friend Poison Ivy, you must promise to use my custom-made Smilex on your very NEXT hijinx. You must use it on someone, and you must bring a video camera. I want footage of the death. This is a field experiment, you realize. I can't exactly go out and commit crimes myself."

"You want me to kill someone with Smilex, and then get it on TAPE?"

"It's also for posterity reasons," he said.

I sighed. I could always just find someone whose sense of humor was irrevocably lost. "Fine," I muttered. "When will it be ready?"

He practically danced to the other side of the lab. "I'd be kidding you if I gave you a time, although I do so love kidding around," he said. "But I'd say that, even with my unpredictable brilliance, you have at least until tonight."

I looked at the clock. I had several hours to kill, ha ha. "Get it done," I said flatly.

"That's it?" he asked, looking injured. "No pithy one-liner?"

"I think the Floronic Man poisoned my ability to laugh," I replied. I had never been in less of a mood to tell jokes. The circus was closed, and the clown was in her trailer for the night

Now he looked outraged. "Now he's gone too far!"

I couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

I perched atop the gazebo and waited. I was so sick of waiting that day. Next time, I'm making somebody wait!

My biggest problem, besides injecting Pammy with an untested chemical and hoping it didn't kill her, was beating the Floronic Man. Even if Ivy didn't go into ultra-protective mode, Woodrue had the ability to control the plants around him and using them as weapons. The odds that I could lure them both somewhere without plans were slim to none. The easiest thing would be to attack him at their hideout, but I couldn't do that alone.

But I couldn't ask another villain. Generally, we don't try to kill each other. It's not good for our reputations. Plus Woodrue has a history of putting the NEAR in "near-death situations". Nobody would want the Floronic Man coming after them with revenge on his mind.

Asking the Batman or one of his little bats to help me kill him was out of the question.

The Judge wanted me dead as much as anyone else, and I didn't know where he was.

That left one other possibility, which perhaps would solve my other problem - Spoiler and Oracle.

After I left the chemist's lab, I got in touch with Barbara. "If you wanted to attract the Oracle's attention," I asked, "what places could you go on the Internet?"

"Well, from what my hacker friends are saying, I've heard about a dozen different places where she's nailed hackers trying to break in. Why?"

"If you tried something like that, and she smelled you out like she did in Arkham's computer database, is there any way you could send her a message for her eyes only?"

"Wellll, yeah, but I'd rather she didn't discover my identity in the process."

"Believe me, she gets the message, she'll be distracted long enough to escape."

Which is why I'm sitting atop a gazebo two hundred yards inside the west gate of Robinson Park. By now the Oracle got my message:

_"I want to meet the Phantasm ALONE. If she's not there at seven tonight, or if she shows up with the canary, OR if she tries to knock me out, I have some extra-special poison gas that'll really put a rictus on someone's face. Toodles, Harley Quinn."_

The Phantasm had told the Judge just the other day that she didn't kill any more. I was out to change her mind.

I looked down and noticed smoke was issuing through cracks in the roof of the gazebo. Oooh, really spooky the third or fourth time. "Nice of you to drop by," I said. "Got held up at the mausoleum?"

The Phantasm stormed out of the gazebo and looked up at me. "I don't like threats," she said.

"Funny, a so-called friend just said that to me."

"Where's the hostage?"

"Safe - for now. But I bet my special Smilex laughing gas is weighing pretty heavily on his mind right now."

I hoped this wasn't true. I wanted the chemist focused on the genetic antidote.

"So what do you want?" the Phantasm demanded.

"First of all," I said, hopping down, "I'm not the Spoiler. I know her, but I'm just a client."

"I'm not surprised," the Phantasm said. "Your criminal history doesn't match the profile."

"Oh?"

"You didn't strike us as - smart enough."

Ba-dum-bum-TSH. The audience laughs.

"But you can still tell us who she is," the Phantasm went on.

"Could do that, if you could do something for me first."

"And what would that be?"

"Help me kill the Floronic Man."

I couldn't really tell how she reacted to that, since she wore a mask, but from the way she went dead silent - har har, my capacity for making bad puns is at least undiminished - I figured I startled her. "It can't be too difficult a concept," I went on. "You tried twice before."

"That was before, like you said. I've changed, and if you're going to kill him, I'll have to take you in, regardless of your threats."

"Why? Afraid I'll deprive you the pleasure of killing him yourself?" I taunted her.

She shook her hook at me. I guess I struck something.

"Look, I don't know what he did to you," I said, "but I've got plenty of reasons to kill him myself, and I thought you'd like to help. If you're not interested, no problem, I'll have the pleasure all to myself."

"Wait!" the Phantasm shouted. "Why are you doing this?"

I looked at her. "What, looking to swap horror stories? If you have to know, I'm doing it for Ivy."

"Ivy!"

"Yeah, you know, the sidekick, the one who stopped you, the one you scarred? She's a good friend, and I just found out that when Woodrue experimented on her, he also altered her genes so that she'd be in love with him. You could argue he's been raping her every day of her life. So he's going to pay. What'd he do to YOU? Kill your lumberjack boyfriend?"

The Phantasm stood there for a moment. Then, in a move that completely floored me, she took off her mask. Ivy had been right. Looking back at me was an attractive blonde woman in her thirties. "He killed my older sister," she said.

"Don't expect me to take the mask off," I told her. "You can just check out the mug shots. So he killed your sister. Sounds like you've got a better reason than me."

She laughed, but there was nothing happy about her laughter. Not exactly my favorite kind. "Oh, I'd say so. If things had worked out differently, you would never have been in this situation. You see, before Woodrue turned Pamela Isley into Poison Ivy, he tried to do the exact same thing to my sister. But she died." Then she smiled ruefully. "Of course, after what you just told me, maybe it's better for her that she did."

While my brain was still trying to process all of this, one thought did appear - she was probably right. Telling the Phantasm that I was in love with her sister would have been REALLY awkward.

To be continued . . .


	8. Chapter 7

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (7)

Author: Allaine

Email: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.

Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.

Distribution: If you want it, just ask.

Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 7

"So, uh . . . there's this guy who goes into a bar with an octopus," I finally said. I was no longer startled by her unexplained smoke-filled appearances. Yet from voluntarily taking off her mask, to revealing that her sister was a failed experiment of Woodrue's before succeeding with Pammy, the Phantasm had completely surprised me tonight.

"You're sure Woodrue did what you've claimed?" Phantasm asked. "That he altered your friend's genetics to make her love him?"

"Not completely," I admitted. "But it's the only explanation I could come up with for something they found in her DNA. And things are starting to make sense now. The way she droops when he's not there, then brightens when he is - it's like a flower at daybreak."

"A lot of people do that when they're with someone they love," she said.

"I've never seen the Floronic Man do ONE thing to deserve her love," I replied. "Besides, why would a guy like that make at least two tries, that we _know_ of, to create someone like Poison Ivy without some assurance that she'd do whatever he asked?"

The Phantasm frowned. "That's true."

"Why do you even care?" I thought to ask. "Ivy had nothing to do with you wanting him dead the last time. You almost killed HER, in fact. I saw the scar," I added angrily.

"I thought she was doing it of her own free will," the Phantasm shot back. "I thought someone that stupid deserved the same fate."

I just remembered - I had decided earlier that I didn't like her, and actually regretted saving her from the Judge. I was in quite a pickle, but I _couldn't_ kill Woodrue by myself.

"Look," I said, after taking a deep breath, "this is very simple. We go there, we kill him, we don't hurt Ivy. Knock knock, who's there, bang bang, bang bang who, bang bang you're dead."

"Is this going to involve more toilet paper?" the Phantasm asked dubiously.

"My sense of comedy is curiously absent tonight," I said.

"You're still assuming that I'll help you. If I become an accessory to murder, I'll be a criminal like you."

"I'll take the fall," I told her. "You can even take me into custody when we're finished. Your pal the Oracle won't even know you were in on it. She might _guess_, but she won't know."

"Your _friend_ will know, and she'll tell the police who killed her lover."

"I've got someone working on an antidote," I said confidently. "If it works, she'll be GLAD he's dead, thus removing the only person on the planet who might actually miss him. And you're just grasping at straws now," I added. "What's more important - a two-bit hacker, or the man who murdered your sister?"

The Phantasm turned bright red, and she looked away. "I admired her so much," she whispered. "Talia was my role model. She was the most amazing person, and that bastard killed her trying to turn her into his own twisted _slave_." She looked back at me, and her lips were curled into a near-feral grimace. "We can leave right now," she snarled.

"Whoa, whoa," I said, holding up my hands. "I need the antidote for Ivy first. If I can inject her with it, she probably won't even try to stop us."

"How long will it take?"

"I've got a man working on it right now, and he's a genius. Give me until midnight, okay?" I gave her a slip of paper. "Here's the address. Meet me on one of the rooftops nearby at twelve. And do NOT go in first. You've got to give me time to cure Pamela. After that, we can both get our revenge."

I had never felt less funny in my life. Jason could die for that too.

* * *

"WHAT!"

"Heh heh," the chemist chuckled uneasily. "The look on your face just now, that was pretty - "

I grabbed him by the throat, and he stopped talking. "What do you mean, it might not WORK?"

"I'm dealing with uncharted territory here!" he said. "And you wanted guarantees that it wouldn't kill her! Well, you got your wish, it won't kill her. But it might not cure her either."

"Then I might as well just inject her with water!" I snapped, letting go.

"Look, what do you expect?" he asked. "Maybe if you gave me a few more days . . ."

"No," I said immediately.

"Why? It's not like she hasn't been that way for most of her adult life!"

"Gee, she's been his little _fucktoy_ for the past ten years! What's a few more days, right?"

"Wouldn't know, I've never tried it. Why don't you ask her?"

"Damn it, not everything is a joke!" I shouted at him.

He stared at me. "It's like I don't even know you any more," he finally sniffed.

That made two of us.

"I need someone's help," I told him. "But if I make her wait a few more days, either she'll change her mind, or she'll go ahead without me, and THEN Ivy could die after all."

"She?" he asked curiously. "There aren't many women in Gotham who'd be of much help to you. Surely you don't mean Catwoman?"

"Not her," I said, regretting my slip. "And it doesn't matter. What matters is you tell me what I'm supposed to do with this." I gestured to the syringe and vial on the counter next to me.

He fussed with his lab coat until the collar was even. "Considering the time constraints," he said stiffly, "I was forced to create something a little different from what you requested. It's designed to undo genetic tampering, causing the subject's DNA to revert back to whatever it was before. But it's not very strong. It'll definitely work on someone with only mild genetic alterations. Poison Ivy, however, has an extremely complicated genetic structure, and there's no guarantee that this chemical is powerful or sophisticated enough to reverse what Woodrue did. That'll take more time."

"Then get to work on that," I told him. "If this stuff doesn't work, and both Woodrue and I are still alive after tonight, I'll come back for the new batch and wait for a second opportunity."

"Ah-ah," he reminded me. "We already made a bargain for the first batch, and you haven't fulfilled your end yet. You promised me a test case." He held up a small canister with the letter X on the side. "And archival footage of the field data, too. You bring me that, and we can talk about what a second batch will cost you."

I stared back at him. What was he thinking, that he could just direct me around like a lab assistant playing with mice? I wasn't a sidekick!

"But if you've changed your mind," he said regretfully, reaching for the vial as he began pulling the canister away.

That made me stop thinking about what I was doing. I shot out my hand and grabbed the canister from him. "I'll get your study results," I said.

He smiled evilly. "You'd really do anything for Pammy, wouldn't you? Even kill someone you don't even know yet."

Yeah, well maybe I didn't really know him either.

* * *

I crept into Jason's hideout through a second-story window. The hideout was, as always, festooned with plant life. If I was anyone else, I'd already be dangling from the ceiling. But Ivy gives me special shots every month or so. They give my perspiration a special kind of odor that her "babies" have been taught to recognize, and then they stop bothering me.

Sure enough, I felt a creeping vine wrap around my ankle for a moment, before pulling away. "That's a good little plant," I whispered. "I'm just going to give Mommy some special medicine of my - "

Then I felt something like twenty iron bands suddenly binding my arms and legs, before I was yanked backwards and flipped upside-down. "Woooo!" I cried out, alarmed.

I guess I needed new shots.

A few moments later, a light went on in the room, blinding me temporarily. When my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, I saw the Floronic Man looking at me. "He-hey, Jason," I said innocently. "The kids are a little rambunctious tonight, dontcha think?"

"Harley Quinn," he said, shaking his head. "What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?" He stepped forward and picked up the duffel bag I'd had over my shoulder until a minute ago. "If you needed a place to crash, why didn't you say so?"

"No offense, Jason, but when you use the word 'crash', I'm a little unsure as to what you mean."

He chuckled as he rooted around my things. "Well, what have we here?" he murmured, taking out my little vial. "Drugs without labels can be dangerous things," he said before dropping it back inside and putting the bag down again. "Unless you have a natural immunity, like Ivy, or a synthetic immunity like me."

"There's nothing natural about what you did to her," I growled.

"Such hostility," he said. "I gave her powers like she never dreamed of."

"And then you made her your puppet, you sick piece of shit!"

"I realize you don't approve of our relationship, but that's hardly cause for - "

"So, Jason, how come I never see any _sunflowers_ around your hideouts?" I retorted.

Woodrue stopped. "What an odd thing to say," he said.

"I wonder if Pammy will say the same thing when I tell her you had her genetically altered to be your little love slave," I hissed back.

"Does it matter?" he asked smugly. "It won't change how she feels about me."

"You're _admitting_ it?"

"Well, it IS rather frustrating when one can't discuss their true masterpieces," Woodrue said. "Although I'm not sure how a happy bimbo like you figured it out."

"It's called a DNA test," I said. "Really cutting edge. A lot of people don't even know about them yet."

He sneered at me, and I felt the plants coiled around my body tighten. I winced under the vise-like pressure.

"A pretty special DNA test, since the boys at Arkham never noticed," he said to me. "And I rather think this vial contains something that you think can cure Ivy, or kill me. I'll have to study it later. Not that it will do YOU any good. I think you've outlived your usefulness, Harley. It was nice always knowing where I could locate her sniveling carcass when I needed her for my experiments, but it wasn't really necessary. She'll _always_ come back to me, Harley. It's in her GENES. Even if you tell her the truth, she won't be able to do anything about it. In fact, you might just make it worse."

The Phantasm was waiting outside for the signal. "You'll scream?" she had asked me.

"Trust me, when you hear it, you'll know it."

This was a good time for the Phantasm to help out, but the plants would just grab her too. I needed to wait until the Moronic Man was distracted.

Better yet, I needed to stay alive.

"Rosebud? Was it - Harley!"

"Ivy," he sighed. "I told you to wait in the bedroom while I investigated the intruder alert."

"Pammy!" I said quickly. "What's the big idea? Your shots stopped working!"

"Actually," Jason said, "this little incident is all your doing, Harley. Ever since you told us the Phantasm was back in town, I made sure the plants would take care of ALL intruders, even you with your 'special shots'."

"Why haven't you let her go yet?" Ivy asked him.

"Because, my dear," he said, "Harley is here to kill me."

She gaped at me. As the chemist had said earlier, it was almost funny - if the situation wasn't so damned serious. "KILL you? You must be mistaken! She's my friend, she would never hurt me like that."

I closed my eyes. With a few words Pammy made my heart hurt more than all of Woodrue's plant defenses. I couldn't let him control her any more!

"Why don't you deny it then, Harley?" he asked me. "Tell Ivy you're not here to kill me."

I opened my eyes when I smelled Ivy's scent. Unlike those first times we met, the odor no longer made me feel ill. She was standing in front of me. "He's wrong, isn't he?" she asked me.

"I thought he was never wrong," I said.

Ivy looked at me with pleading eyes. "Harley?"

This was a matter of life or death. Of course I lied, sort of. "I only came to protect you," I replied.

"Be that as it may," Jason said, "I can't take you at your word, Harley, so I'm going to have to kill you instead."

Ivy spun around. "But she said - "

"I don't _care_," he said coldly. "Her being around you no longer pleases me. Do you wish to displease me?"

She flinched. "Of - of course not, rosebud," she said.

"Am I not more important to you than her?"

Ivy nodded helplessly, and I sighed. I could see where this was going, and the irony wasn't really very amusing.

"Then you'll have no problem killing her for me, will you, petal?" he asked her.

I couldn't see her face, but I heard this odd, strangled noise coming out of her mouth. "I - I - " she stammered.

"I wish her death. Therefore she must die, right?"

Ivy was trembling all over. "If - if you wish it, then of course it must be so. But why do you wish it!" she asked plaintively.

"And if she must die," he went on, relentless as he ignored her question, "then wouldn't it be better for her if you were to do it? You know how I like to - experiment with my victims before I kill them."

Ivy took another step back, so that she almost bumped into me. I realized I was staring at her rear end. She really has an amazing ass, you know. I tried staring at it to take my mind off the situation. Because I could tell from her reaction that Jason could kill me VERY unpleasantly.

"I'll do it," she squeaked at last.

She squeaks too. Like her whimpers, not a pretty thing to behold.

"Good," he said. "I'll be in our room. Be there in five minutes, okay? I'm sure I can make you forget her."

"Oh-okay," she told him, and I could hear in her voice how much she wanted to believe him.

Jason picked up my bag, turned, and walked out without looking at me again. Arrogant jerk.

Ivy finally turned back to me, and she waved her hand. I was gently turned right side up again, and I swooned as I felt the blood rushing back out of my head. The vines let go of me, except for one that was still wrapped around my arms.

When my vision cleared, I could see the tears running down her face, and I couldn't help myself. I started crying too. "Oh, Pammy," I whispered.

"What were you THINKING?" she burst out. "Why did you have to put yourself in this position? Can't you see what you're making me _do?_"

"Looks like he's the one making you do it," I said.

"What's the difference?" she asked. "I _can't_ deny him!"

"Not even to save your best friend's life?"

She put her hands over her face and shook her head vigorously.

Of course not. You might as well ask someone to defy the will of God.

"Well then," I finally said, "you'd better hurry. You've got four minutes left."

Ivy's hands dropped, and I saw how much that remark hurt her. Immediately I regretted it. The woman I loved was about to murder me, and even now I couldn't bear to injure her.

"In a minute," she said miserably, "one of these vines is going to wrap around your neck. It should be quick and relatively painless when your neck is snapped."

"No," I said.

"Harley - "

"No, Pammy. If you're going to kill me, I get to decide how. I want some of your blood."

She looked confused. "It'll take longer," she said. "And it will hurt worse."

"And I don't want it injected into me," I went on, ignoring her as easily as Jason had earlier. "I want . . . to drink it directly from your body."

Ivy was now positively stunned. "Harley, I don't understand."

"AND," I added, "I get to pick where I drink it from."

" . . . Where?"

"The base of your neck, where it meets the shoulders," I said.

She trembled. "Harley, please, what are you doing?"

I looked into her eyes. I'd decided not to tell her she was a slave, but I was about to do was even crueler. On the other hand, it MIGHT stop her from doing this. "If I could die like that, feeling my teeth bite through your skin and tasting your blood on my lips, I would die a happy clown, Pammy. Isn't that all a clown can ask for?"

"Harley?"

"Pammy. Didn't you ever see how much I'm in love with you?"

Ivy lurched backwards. It seemed like that was all she'd been doing tonight, stumbling back. "You and your jokes," she said weakly.

"Do you think I kissed your tears away just because I was being a friend?" I asked her. "You always say that no man can resist you. Well, I like women too. How could I ever resist what all those men can't?"

I think the appeal to her vanity made her understand. Of course I loved her. Everyone does. "This is something you want then?" she asked.

I was going to die tonight. The Phantasm could still save me. But the prospect of what she was about to do was too tempting to risk. "I've wanted to do this for years, Pammy," I said, my voice suddenly hoarse.

Ivy looked down for a moment. "Okay," she said. She gestured behind me, and I felt myself lifted up, so that I could bend over and just reach her.

"No," I said. "Release me and come closer. I swear on a stack of joke books, I won't try to escape. I just want my hands free."

Ivy hesitated, but then she looked at the clock. I think she was almost ready to grant any request just so she wouldn't be late getting back to Jason. It made my stomach turn, but the feeling went away as I was lowered again. My arms were suddenly free, and I approached her.

"Thank you, love," I murmured as I pulled her slightly taller body down and leaned close.

Carefully I began sucking her neck near the collarbone. She tasted, as always, like fruit. Usually she tasted a bit overripe, but tonight she tasted like ambrosia.

She shivered under my oral caress, and I put my hands on her forearms as I bit down. You'd expect her blood to taste of salt or metal. To be honest, I'm not really sure WHAT she tasted like. My brain was starting to fail at that point. I was running on instinct then, and my instincts told me not to stop until I was dead.

I felt Ivy arch her back as I sucked at her neck, allowing my hands to move up and down her arms. A moan barely escaped her lips, and I wondered - when was the last time Jason had kissed her like this?

That was my last conscious thought. After that, there were just sensations. I felt Ivy's hands on my back, and I felt mine on hers. I felt our bodies pressing tightly together, and I heard her moan a second time.

Lastly, I tasted her hot breath when I felt my lips devouring hers. And I _know_ I felt her kissing me back.

Her poisons were circulating in my lungs and running through my arteries. I had enough toxins in me to make my hair fall out. But that wasn't why my heart exploded. I'd just never felt such waves of intense pleasure in my whole life. Like I'd promised, I was a clown who was smiling on the inside.

The only way I could have felt better was if I'd known that Phantasm was going to kill Woodrue later that night. I hated him so completely for having this woman in his bed as often as he liked, without even appreciating it.

But I guess I'd never know. Pooh.

And then everything went black.

To be continued . . . ?


	9. Chapter 8

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (8)

Author: Allaine

Email: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.

Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.

Distribution: If you want it, just ask.

Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 8

The Floronic Man scowled as he looked up from his search of the duffel bag. "I still don't understand what you mean. You're not in the mood. If you _got_ in the mood, I could make you forget about that bitch in a minute." He removed a syringe and put it next to the vial.

Ivy didn't respond. She remained huddled in a corner, her hair covering her face as her head lay in her arms.

"When a girl says no, she means no," I told him as I put a gun to the back of his head.

I saw Woodrue's body stiffen. Ivy's head slowly rose in disbelief. "H-Harley?" she whispered.

"You know what I love about criminal hideouts?" I went on. "It's the weapons people just leave _lying_ around. Some people don't pick up their socks. Others don't pick up their guns."

"Well," Jason said coldly, "now I understand why my deceitful Pamela was so distraught. It wasn't because you were dead. It was because she disobeyed me."

"But I didn't!" Ivy gasped. She looked completely floored. Not the look of "thank-God-you're-alive" joy I was hoping for, but it was better than "how-could-you-put-a-gun-to-Rosebud's-head" horror. "You took my blood, you inhaled my breath! You can't still be alive."

"It's good to see you too, Pammy," I replied.

The hurt on her face was the first emotion I'd seen from her besides shock. I hated hurting her, but this time I did it anyway. She tried to _kill_ me, damn it, and no matter how incredible those last moments together were, I was angry. I jabbed the barrel of the gun into Jason's scalp, making his head rock forward slightly. If that bothered her, so be it.

"You were a willing participant in your own death, Harley," she shot back.

"Perhaps death isn't the most accurate choice of words, Ivy," Jason pointed out. "Since she's pointing a gun at me right now. You're remarkably healthy, I must say, Harley."

"Yes," I agreed. "When I came to a minute ago, I thought to myself that my 'features had never before possessed so rich a grace, nor my eyes such vivacity, nor my cheeks so warm a hue of superabundant life'."

Jason was still for a moment before erupting with a harsh laugh. "Ha!" he barked. "So that's it? You think you're Giovanni to her Beatrice?"

I started. I knew the story well enough to quote it. Apparently he knew it well enough to recognize it. "You've read the tale?" I asked.

"Of course. I found it - inspirational. Naturally I aspired to succeed as Doctor Rappacini did, and you can see the outcome yourself. I too am the man who, 'with what he calls the interest of science before his eyes, will hesitate at nothing'."

"If you mean you're a 'tall, emaciated, sallow, and sickly-looking man', then I completely agree," I replied.

From the look of frustrated annoyance on Pammy's face, she had no idea what we were talking about. There, at last, was the woman I'd seen sweep through the Iceberg like a queen. "Does everyone in Gotham speak in riddles now?" she asked, irritated.

"Ivy, my dear," Jason told her smoothly, "it is possible that you yourself are the reason she's alive. All those days and nights the two of you spent alone in each other's company - like a king who builds his resistance to poison by consuming ever-increasing amounts, Quinn became immune to your poison by inhaling copious amounts of the poison in your breath."

"And touching your skin when I helped you undress," I added. "And kissing your tears away."

"But you passed out!" she said. "I made sure of it! Or were you faking that? Were you faking the whole time!" she demanded with more heat than I expected. As if what happened between us had mattered to her.

At that moment, I stopped being angry with her. It was those flashes of real, genuine emotion that always swept me away. "I've been dreaming about that moment for two years, Pammy," I told her quietly. "You'd pass out too if your fantasy came true after all that time."

Ivy flushed and looked down, embarrassed.

"Hm," Jason murmured. "Perhaps you are Giovanni in more ways than one? Has she 'instilled a fierce and subtle poison into your system'?"

I blushed behind my mask. My memories of those last moments with Ivy seemed to grow stronger.

"You know," he continued, as if this were a simple conversation between acquaintances, "I've always wished for an extra set of hands in my work. I thought to create another woman like Ivy here, but I knew she would never tolerate sharing me." He chuckled a little at that, and I could guess why. He had only said that for Pammy's benefit. If he wanted her to tolerate a second woman, she'd damn well have to.

"But," Jason said, "I think she would be very happy if her best friend began working alongside her. Wouldn't that make you smile, Ivy? If Harley here came to work with us?"

Ivy gasped. "Oh, yes!" she said enthusiastically.

Inside I was groaning. Of course that would mean the best of both worlds for her. She could have her love and her friend at all times. The odds that she would make it easy for me to inject her with the chemist's concoction just went from "very slim" to "zero".

"And I suppose, like all men, you'd enjoy a little ménage a trois on the side?" I asked scornfully.

He laughed. "I know you despise me, Quinn. I wouldn't ask that - although all the boys at the Iceberg agree you've got a perfect little tush."

I snarled at the back of his big smug head.

"Why not say yes?" he asked. He swiveled in his chair before I could react, but he didn't try to stand up. Jason just looked up at me, with the barrel of my gun right between his arrogant eyes. "I can have a second person who can help me work with poisons that would kill anyone else. And you can be with her always. We both know you want that." He lowered his voice. "She'd even - lie with you, if that was what you wanted. If I told her too, she'd make your fantasies come true for _hours_."

The gun in my hand dropped slightly as I considered it. How could I not? This wasn't about the Phantasm or Barbara or right or wrong - and certainly not a good joke! This was about loving Ivy. Maybe the drugs wouldn't work. Maybe she'd be hopelessly in love with him for the rest of her life, and killing him would only destroy her.

Oh God, I wanted those nights he was offering.

Then I looked at the beautiful and shockingly vulnerable woman I knew, her hands clasped as if she was praying for me to say yes. She probably was.

My resolve hardened. This wasn't about lust. This was about love. And if I - the last chance she had to be free - was going to help Woodrue go on violating her every day for years to come, then I would be violating her too.

Besides, I didn't want her to love me on Jason's orders. I wanted her to love me on her own.

My gun dropped a little more, and a cocksure smile spread across his features. The Floronic Man, archenemy to Batman, king of rogues - who could resist his charm?

I looked at those white teeth, and I smashed my gun into them.

His head snapped back, and he struck the edge of the table. The syringe started to rill off, but I caught it and jammed it into the pouch on my leg. "You're a joke, Jason," I said. I'd never loathed him more. "The killing joke. Now give me the chemicals you took."

"No, Harley, no, no! What are you doing!" Ivy shrieked, pulling her hair.

Jason just spat out some blood and glared at me. I could see he wanted to kill me himself now. I reached around him and took the chemist's vial, stuffing it next to the syringe.

Then I screamed in his face.

Instinctively he shut his eyes and winced. When my high-pitched wailing came to an end, he opened his eyes again. "If anyone has a right to be angry, it's me," he told me.

After a few seconds, I mentally disagreed. The Phantasm hadn't shown. I had a better right to be pissed.

Still, Jason couldn't summon help from the plants surrounding us without taking his eyes off of me, or moving his hands. And if he did, I'd pull the trigger first. I'd pull the trigger if Ivy leapt at me too. Of course, neither alternative left much room for escape, but if Jason died now, Ivy probably wouldn't want me alive anyway.

I never even heard them coming. Heavy vines snapped out of the foliage with more speed than I thought plants were capable of, and Jason never even blinked. Which meant it had been Pammy. I'd hoped her mixed feelings about me would prevent her from acting on her near-psychic ability to control plants.

I was wrong. What a surprise!

"Thank you, Ivy," Jason said as I was hoisted into the air. Vines were wrapped tightly around my shoulders and ankles. "Although you'll forgive me if I don't ask you to finish her off for me."

"I'm sorry I waited, rosebud," she said. "I just - I was sure she'd accept!"

"Yeah, yeah, how could I, what was I thinking?" I said before Ivy could. "Pammy, he's been deceiving you from the day he created you. When he altered - "

Jason imperiously waved a hand, and the vines gripping me started pulling in opposite directions. I bit off a yelp as I realized I was being put to the rack.

"I have no more need of your foolery, Harley," he said with a sneer. "And Ivy is all the assistant I'll ever need."

I had a feeling those vines could tear me in four pieces in an instant, but naturally he had them increasing the pressure gradually. I was going to die slow. "Jason will never need you for who you ARE, Pammy," I said, feeling beads of sweat break out on my forehead. "Only I will."

"You should have given me what I needed and taken his offer!" she shot back, but she was starting to look pretty uneasy again.

Of course, not as uneasy as the girl whose limbs were about to be ripped off.

Then the room began to fill with a dense black smoke, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At last, someone who WASN'T screwing me over. And Jason was distracted enough that the vines stopped pulling.

"Fire!" Ivy cried out in terror. "The babies!"

"I smell no fire," Jason said. "And I recognize that smoke. It's my old friend, Phantasm. Isn't that right, my dear?"

The Phantasm stepped out from the smoke. "Let the girls go," she commanded, her mask back on. "And then die like a man."

"I'd rather you died like a woman," he said. "Ivy? Take care of her like you did before. I have Miss Quinn to finish off."

"She doesn't look like much," Ivy said, snorting. It was easy to forget I was in mortal danger AGAIN when she could focus on the new threat. "A few tears in the costume that weren't there before, but I suppose there aren't many seamstresses in Hell."

The Phantasm DID look strangely shabby. There were rips and tears in her outfit, like she'd been in a fight . . . that was why she'd been late. Was the Bat nearby?

"Sorry about that," the Phantasm said. "I had a run-in with the Judge a few moments ago. He should be here any second now."

Jason grunted in annoyance. "Well," he said. "This is shaping up to be a very interesting night."

There was a smash downstairs, like someone chopping the door down.

"Jason?" Ivy asked uncertainly. I could empathize a little. The Judge might be coming for the Phantasm, but he'd certainly be willing to make time for the Floronic Man on his busy docket. Or me, considering our last encounter.

Woodrue frowned. "First things first," he said. He swept his hand down, picked up the gun, and pointed it at the Phantasm. "They say you can't kill a ghost, but I say - "

"Too much," the Phantasm interrupted as she swung her arm in an arcing motion. The hook separated from her wrist and whirled towards him, striking him in the hand. He yelled as the hook knocked the gun from his grip and left a bloody slash across where his thumb joined his hand.

"Jason!" Ivy screamed. She looked at the Phantasm with hatred. "When I'm through poisoning you, your blood will be gushing from every pore!"

"Wish I hadn't promised not to kill you," Phantasm muttered as she dove out of Ivy's way.

As Ivy was getting to her feet, a dark form materialized in the doorway. "Phantasm!" the Judge ordered, hefting a sword like the one carried by Blind Justice. "Fugitives from my court are dealt with . . ." He seemed to notice for the first time the other people there. "Harshly," he said. "I thought you killed these people, not consorted with them."

"When it comes to the Floronic Man," Phantasm said, "consort is hardly the appropriate word to apply to me."

Jason sighed and snapped his fingers. Immediately I felt the vines begin their inexorable pull again, and I grimaced. "Ivy, I do believe we have a vigilante problem. Perhaps we should vacate the premises until an exterminator can be called?"

"Court is still in session!" the Judge thundered.

"Geez, can't you talk normally for two seconds!" I asked, exasperated. Then I remembered I was being drawn and quartered, and I cried out.

Ivy looked at me, distracted by my scream, and the Judge took advantage. He pulled his custom-made manacles from his sleeves and hurled them at Ivy. They sailed downward and locked around her feet. She squawked as she felt her ankles pulled together, and despite her attempts to stay upright, she keeled over.

"Stay back," the Phantasm warned the Judge. "You can't hurt either of them."

The Judge hefted his sword at the unarmed Phantasm. "Someone has to execute them. And since the Floronic Man thinks he can delay justice, I shall have to pass judgment on one of you."

I looked around and realized that Woodrue had darted out in the commotion.

Bastard.

Ivy raised a hand toward the Judge, but nothing happened. I guess the plants were too busy taking care of what was important - in other words, whatever Jason wanted.

One of us was unarmed, one of us couldn't walk, one of us couldn't even move, and the only one who deserved to die had fled the scene.

I hate tragedies.

To be continued . . .


	10. Chapter 9

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (9/10)

Author: Allaine

Email: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.

Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.

Distribution: If you want it, just ask.

Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 9

"Does anyone have any ideas?" the Phantasm asked as she backed away.

"Not - being - torn into - drumsticks - sounds nice," I gasped.

"Why the hell can't she do the same thing to him?" the Phantasm demanded, waving a hand at Ivy.

"My babies can only target one person at a time!" Ivy screamed back. "And with my rosebud gone, the vines will just go on - "

"Killing me," I grunted.

The Judge came at the Phantasm with his sword in the air, but she grabbed a nearby chair and shoved it into him. The legs took him in the gut, and he stumbled backwards. "Can't you make your 'babies' target him instead? You're Poison fucking Ivy, aren't you!" she snarled at Ivy.

Ivy was dragging herself across the floor, away from the two killer vigilantes. "He can kill you for all _I_ care," she sniffed.

"And your pal too," Phantasm shot back. She hurled the chair at the Judge's head, but he sliced it in two with his sword.

Ivy looked at me doubtfully. "But Jason said - "

My left shoulder was finally dislocated, and my scream nearly drowned out the popping sound as tears sprang to my eyes. "Pammy," I managed to say.

Desperately she refused to look me in the eyes.

I felt my right ankle snap, and I howled, knowing that the leg was going to break any second now.

"No!" Ivy cried out, anguished. She raised up her hand, and I was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. I wanted to be relieved, but I landed on my poor ankle, and I almost blacked out.

When I finally turned my head, Ivy had redirected the floral defenses at the Judge. His arms were pinned to his sides, but he was able to swing his sword enough that he sliced one of the vines clutching at his legs. Phantasm was finally able to get past his weapon, though, and she kicked him soundly across the face, knocking his wig and mask on.

When the Judge's face came into view, I saw . . . someone I'd never seen before. You'd think after all that waiting, he'd at LEAST have the decency to be someone exciting. But no, I got a guy who looked like the Ken Barbie doll.

Groaning, I pulled myself up with Woodrue's table and my one good arm. Ivy was still on the floor, now trying to get the manacles off her ankles, but I knew from personal experience that she couldn't do it with her bare hands. I also knew her plants could do it for her, but like she said, the number of plants that half-filled the room couldn't restrain a man and help her at the same time.

If I wanted to give her my chemist's special shot, she couldn't do much to stop me. She wasn't even looking at me. She probably didn't mean to, but that hurt. I wanted to think she'd check to see if I was okay first. Not to mention I _wasn't_ okay!

Just a little prick in the back of her neck. All I had to do was get the chemicals from the vial to the syringe.

Which I wasn't going to do as long as my left arm wasn't listening to me.

Trembling with the knowledge of how much this was going to hurt, I plodded toward the room's other entrance, dragging my broken ankle behind me as I slung my duffel bag over my good shoulder. IF the Judge managed to get past the Phantasm, I'd need something other than two good limbs to defend myself. I went over to the doorjamb and, miraculously without falling over, slammed my left shoulder into the wall.

I didn't get a second miracle. This time I fell over, and the room swam before my eyes. Not even the Bat had ever hurt me this much. He never had to. But gee, Ivy gets involved and I get broken in two places. Never would have predicted that.

Coughing, I rolled onto my side and found my left arm was responding again. I struggled to get my leg pouch open again, and then I extracted the syringe and vial. They were certainly more fragile than me, but unlike me they'd managed to avoid taking damage. The room I'd fallen into was pitch black, but the light coming from the other room was all I needed. I jammed the needle into the vial and pulled back, letting the liquid flow into the syringe.

If Ivy would just look at Woodrue once with anger instead of mindless love . . . that was my biggest fantasy of all. Why couldn't that come true too?

Suddenly I felt myself hoisted onto my feet from behind. "Oh great, not again," I thought before I noticed I was behind held by human arms, not plant life.

Unfortunately, the arms belonged to the Floronic Man.

"Funny," he breathed into my ear. "While I was waiting back there to see who would exit first, I never thought it would be you."

"See, until yesterday I was a great judge of what's funny," I growled, "and I would have said that wasn't funny at all."

One of his arms changed places, so that it was wrapped around my neck. It's hard making witty remarks when you can barely breathe.

"Sad, then," he replied. "Sad that you're not Giovanni after all. He didn't die, you know. Now it is you who gets to be Beatrice. You too 'must pass heavily, with that broken heart, across the borders'."

I wanted to retort with a quote of my own, but like I said, talking wasn't really an option.

The only option, therefore, was to stab him in the thigh with the needle.

I could always have more made - assuming I lived another day.

He cried out and slapped at my hand. The syringe snapped, and I dropped the plastic pieces, leaving the needle still in his leg. Then Jason threw me aside, and in the dark I had no idea where I was falling until my shoulder hit a wall. My left shoulder, naturally, and I whimpered as I slid to the floor.

Then he started screaming somewhere behind me. I didn't dare move. With my broken ankle, it would have been pointless. Besides, the noises he was making - they were kinda creeping me out. Instead I began rummaging around in my bag for a weapon I could defend myself with, or at least something to light the room with.

My fingers wrapped around a chill metal cylinder, and I shivered.

"What the - HELL was in that?" Jason said somewhere to my right.

"Hopefully, a rewind button," I said before remembering that he didn't know where I was until I had spoken. Whoops.

Not that it mattered, because he found the light switch a moment later. The light hurt my eyes, but I opened them in a hurry when I felt him fall on top of me. "Sorry, you bitch," he snarled, "but I have no sunflowers in my DNA for you to remove."

"Just whatever alterations you needed made if you were going to survive Pammy's touch," I replied. I flicked the switch on the side of the canister in my hand, and I heard a hissing sound. Almost instantly I noticed a strange odor.

Jason's head snapped around. "What was that!" he demanded.

"Something you've always needed," I told him. "A good,_ long_ laugh." Either Ivy's poison was going to keep me immune, or it wasn't. Either the chemist's cocktail worked on Jason, or it hadn't. In a minute we could both be dead or alive. A no-lose situation, when you thought about it. Except for me maybe dying. And him maybe living.

Now THAT was funny. And I started to laugh.

And so did he. I found that incredibly satisfying, and impossibly hilarious.

"Your - your silly laughing gas, ha ha, cannot affect me," he chuckled in disbelief. Laughing disbelief, of course.

"It's not silly, you jerkoff, hee hee," I retorted. "It's s-so funny, you'll DIE laughing!"

Jason could die! I was so thrilled, I began laughing hysterically. I was literally "rolling in the aisle", and my ankle was burning, and even THAT was funny.

My own laughter was exceeded only by his, harsh and braying. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and a little spattered my tassels.

I was screaming with laughter, but at that point I think I was just plain screaming too. My whole body felt like it was rocketing toward some internal boiling point. Suddenly it wasn't funny any longer, but I couldn't stop. All I did was laugh, while my insides roasted. Oh God, oh God, was THIS what the chemist had wanted me to use all this time? I heard the insane laughter coming from my mouth, and that was the opposite of what I'd always tried to do. I wanted people to smile, not go mad!

I felt something leaking from my eyes. I couldn't tell if it was tears or blood. I hoped the chemist meant it when he said only I was worthy of using Smilex. That way, it would never be used again after I died. It could only bring true laughter to one person - its creator.

My hands were over my mouth. I had a vague notion that it was the only thing keeping me from laughing my organs out of my throat. Then I felt my hands pushed away, and I blacked out.

Finally. All this dying-but-not-quite was starting to become a running gag.

* * *

I coughed as I opened my eyes. Where was I? Gingerly I lifted my head.

I was in a dimly lit room. I was lying in bed. There was a tube running out of my arm. Apparently I was in the hospital.

Then I groaned. "It IS a running gag," I thought.

"Well, you finally woke up."

I turned my head slightly. A woman in white was walking toward me.

It was the Phantasm, sans costume.

Maybe I was dead after all.

"What - " I tried to say, but she put her fingers over my lips.

"Don't try to speak," she said. "You've been unconscious for over three days. I wasn't sure if you'd make it." She chuckled. "I wasn't sure if any of us would the other night."

I tried to speak, but she wouldn't let me.

"Let me think," she continued. "Nod if I'm right. You want to know why you're alive?"

I nodded. I wanted to know a lot of things, but that was one of them.

"Partly due to around-the-clock medical care for the past few days," Phantasm told me. "But mostly due to your friend Ivy. She saved you."

I stared at her. Oh shit. If she'd saved me, then she must have saved Jason first. He was still alive. Damn, damn, damn!

She saw the bleak look in my eyes. "You're thinking about the Floronic Man, right?" When I nodded, she smiled. It was a savage, joyous smile, and I stopped breathing. "Oh, he's dead, all right. Lucky for you she picked you first."

I was stunned for a moment. And then, a tiny laugh trickled up my throat and past her fingers. For the first time in days, I laughed like I used to. My sense of humor was back.

"She's awake?"

The Phantasm stood up quickly and turned around. At last I could speak freely - or at least, freely ask for a drink of water, because my throat felt like sandpaper. "Just now," she said to someone I couldn't see.

"Good. We need to talk."

"She just - "

"Gotham's been in a minor uproar since Woodrue was uprooted. She can listen, and she can nod her head."

A seated figure emerged from the shadows and came closer. It was a woman in an electric wheelchair, I saw. Like the man in the Judge costume, I'd never seen her before. But from the way she spoke to Phantasm, I had a pretty good idea of who she was.

"Oracle," I whispered.

"Hm, very good," she said. "I can see we'll do just fine together." She adjusted her glasses and adjusted her long black hair so that it fell behind her shoulders. Like the Canary and the Phantasm, she was pretty hot - who were these people? Charlie's Angels?

Of course, none of them were as beautiful as -

"Ivy?" I asked.

The Phantasm's hand moved into my field of vision with a cup of water, and I drank carefully. My throat felt a little better, and I stared at Oracle. "Where's Ivy?"

"Sleeping," Oracle told me. "But we can talk about her later."

"I wanna see her," I whined.

"And I'd like to walk again, but we don't always get what we want," she replied sharply, and I frowned. "First of all, I studied the gas canister you used on Woodrue and yourself. The residue doesn't match anything in my databanks. What is it, and where did you get it?"

"Smilex," I said. "Killer laughing gas."

"You've never used lethal gas before."

"I never wanted to kill someone before."

"Point," she conceded. "Who created it?"

I hesitated. I wouldn't exactly endear myself to some people if I turned the chemist in.

"I will not allow that gas to be used again EVER, Quinn," she said coldly. "It's an abomination. And if you're going to cooperate . . ."

"Cooperate?" I asked. "What is this, a Russian prison?"

"Harley, you murdered a man the other night. At the moment, nobody knows it was you except for Phantasm, Canary, Ivy, and myself. That can change."

I chuckled. "Man inhales gas and laughs himself to death - I think they'll be able to connect it to me."

"The autopsy findings were already released. Apparently there were so many different toxins and chemicals in his system, the coroner is amazed he didn't die ten years ago. The best they could say is that Woodrue's immunity ceased functioning, but they don't know why THAT happened either. Phantasm and Canary - I'm sorry, Andrea and Dinah, you might as well learn their names - took you and Ivy away. Right now, they're pinning the murder on the Judge, who was the only other person on the scene when the police arrived. Considering he's attempted murder in the past, it's not a major stretch for the police to think that."

"Andrea . . . what do you mean, I might as well learn their names?" I asked suspiciously.

"I'll get to that later."

"Oh yeah? Then what's YOUR name?"

She smiled. "Helena Bertinelli."

"Oh, now it all makes sense," I muttered.

"It will."

I looked away and pouted.

"Harley Quinn."

"What?"

"Look at me. As I said, I'm the only one who determines whether or not you go to prison for murder."

"Prison? Ha! Everyone knows I'm insane."

"You went to Jason's hideout with poison gas, chemicals which somehow ended his immunity to said poison, and a syringe to inject it with. You're best friends with his sidekick Ivy, and Ivy's medical history includes several injuries attributed to domestic violence. And you killed him. A prosecutor could argue you knew exactly what you were doing, and since Andrea has described to me what sounds curiously like the actions of a sane, if extremely angry woman, I'd bet the state could locate psychiatrists who are smart enough to tell when someone is insane and when someone is faking it," she said. "How does life in Blackgate sound?"

As I've described, it didn't sound good at all. No escape routes, no secret caches, no nothing.

"Even if you DO manage to beat the rap and return to Arkham," she went on ruthlessly, "everyone will know you killed the Floronic Man."

"So?" I asked. "Jason wasn't exactly known for his social skills. No one will be sorry he's gone."

"True enough. Do you like westerns?"

I blinked, thrown off by her strange question. "Uh, no, not really. I was always more of a - "

"Comedy girl, right?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Well, I love westerns. And do you know what happens in westerns to the fastest guns?"

I shook my head. Was this how she paid for her freelance hacking patrol? Film reviews at the Gotham Post?

"_Every_ young kid looking to make a name for himself seeks out the fastest gun in the West and challenges him to a draw. I mean, if Pat Garrett could say 'I shot Billy the Kid', then the man who killed Pat Garrett could say, 'I shot the man who shot Billy the Kid'. Do you see what I'm getting at, Harley?"

I thought I did. She was saying that there were people who would want a piece of me because I killed Jason. Not because they liked him, but because it was an easy way to make their reputation. And in the Gotham underworld, reputation is everything, people are crazy, and nobody is afraid of taking a life. I could be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my - very short life.

I gulped.

"NOW does it make sense?" she asked me gently.

"You're saying - it doesn't matter if I know who you are or not, because all you have to do is tell the police everything you know," I said, and I trembled.

Oracle, or Helena, smiled at me. It didn't SEEM especially cruel or sadistic, but why else would she be doing this to me? "I'm not trying to scare you, Harley. But in my experience, people like you need strong boundaries. If you do what I ask, you'll be smiling when it's all over. If not, well . . ."

"There's a chemist," I said.

I gave him up. It didn't bother me as much as it might have. He'd been acting like a total jerk lately, and having personally sampled his wares for the first time, I didn't think I could use his product again in the future. Still, he HAD created the mixture that helped kill Jason, and for that I'd be eternally -

"Wait!" I cried out. I tried to sit up, but my body protested vigorously, and I lay back. "The chemicals he made me, the stuff I gave to Jason - it was meant for Ivy. It was supposed to - "

"I told her already," Andrea said from the other side of the room.

"Yes, you were trying to cure some kind of genetic compulsion, correct?" Helena asked, frowning.

"I used the last of it. I gotta get more from him, or Ivy's gonna be in love with Jason forever!"

"I don't think that's feasible, Harley," she said.

I closed my eyes. I broke her heart the other night, and I'd go on breaking it for the remainder of Pammy's days. It wasn't supposed to happen like this!

"We'll worry about that later," Helena said, shrugging. "First - "

"No," I growled, opening my eyes and glaring at her. "You can send me to prison, you can get me killed, but I've gotta cure Pammy whether you like it or not. I'm not sayin' nuthin' else otherwise."

Helena looked at Andrea. "Can you do anything for Isley?" she asked.

"I can run some tests, but it's not going to be easy. She's not exactly safe to approach."

"I can hack into Arkham's files. They must have data there on how to safely handle her," Helena said.

"I may want to consult with my mother too," Andrea said. "She's a better doctor than I am."

"Wait, you're a DOCTOR!" I said, looking at her. "And you wanted to kill him? What, what about the Hippocratic Oath thing?" Ha, more like Hypocritic!

She did look a bit sheepish. "I was angry," she said. "My sister was going to be a doctor too. I thought - I would kill him for all the patients my sister would never treat. Later I realized how foolish that was."

"It didn't seem foolish the other night," I said darkly.

"No, it didn't," she agreed. "Not until I returned from our first meeting, anyway."

"Our first - you set me up!"

"She told us," Helena confirmed. "Andrea knew you'd promised to include her in the killing. But she went in to keep you from killing Jason, not help you. I had Dinah in reserve in case things went sour, but the Judge knocked her out from behind. By the time she came to, Andrea had the Judge under control and you were almost dead. Fortunately Dinah was at least able to help clean up the scene."

I took it back. Even the Phantasm tried to screw me over the other night.

"So who was that guy anyway, since we're giving names?" I asked.

"His name was Jean-Paul Valley," she said. "Apparently he was indoctrinated into some sort of cult and trained to be a Judge."

"You mean THE Judge."

"No, I mean A Judge. It seems there are more out there. Which is part of the reason why we're having this discussion. AND," she sighed, "why I will do everything I can to determine what makes Ivy love Jason, and how it can be cured." She must have seen my sulky expression, because she shook her head. "Forget it, Harley. It's all I can offer you."

Finally I broke down. "What else do you want?" I asked. "What do these Judges have to do with me?"

"Let me tell you a little something about myself," she said.

There she went, going off on tangents again.

"My father was a very important man in one of Gotham's crime families," she explained. "When I was ten years old, my parents were murdered in a drive-by shooting. I was also in the car, but I was lucky, after a fashion. The bullet that hit me only paralyzed me from the waist down. From that moment on, I dedicated my life to seeing the killers punished. Eventually, as I got older and turned to computers as a means of moving beyond my wheelchair, I decided it was organized crime itself that was responsible."

"Then why are you hassling hackers?"

"It's just a small part. Crime is crime, whether it's organized or not. Mafia, gangs, lunatics like the Floronic Man - the Batman has the right idea. The police aren't doing enough."

"So you're a crimefighter."

"Exactly. Except, like Nero Wolfe - you don't know who I'm talking about, do you?"

"Nope. Sorry. Do you know who Doctor Rappacini is?"

Helena looked blankly at me.

"Then we're even. Go on."

"As I was saying," she said, looking skyward for a moment, "I can't use the information I've gathered from a wheelchair. So I hired the Black Canary as my field operative. She was looking to re-establish herself after leaving the JSA. Later, when I realized she needed a partner, I used my hacking to track down the Phantasm. I offered her the chance to accomplish her goals without taking lives."

"So do you call yourselves anything? Oracle's Posse, maybe?"

"Birds of Prey, actually."

I snorted. "Guess you've never seen a canary."

"Don't laugh. You'll be joining as soon as your ankle heals."

My eyes got big. "Excuse me!"

Helena laughed. "It's because of the Judges, you see. They're out there killing people, taught by a cult called the Order of St. Dumas not to question their own actions. They're fanatics, crusaders. And until now, nobody seems to have realized that there's more than one. They tend to lie in wait until a member of the order has killed, then take turns. It creates the illusion that a single Judge is traveling from city to city."

"And how did YOU figure this out?"

"Please. I'm the Oracle. Anyway, we were able to extract some information from him before the police approached, and I've decided to send Dinah and Andrea after the remaining Judges. That means I'll be alone here in Gotham."

"And you expect me to just take their place, right wrongs, yadda yadda?" I asked.

"Something like that."

"Don't kid a kidder," I retorted.

"I'll leave the jokes to you, Harley. I'm more of a straight man - woman, that is. Look, I'm not saying you have to become another Batman or something."

"Good, because I'd need to have my sense of humor surgically removed."

"I want you to be undercover," she explained. "So much of my work is predicated on gathering information. You're one of the most well-known members of Gotham's criminal underworld. You're a hell of a source, and I intend to use it."

"So I can still commit crimes?" I asked hopefully.

She frowned. "No."

"Well, that makes NO sense at all! How am I supposed to maintain my standing with the others if I stop breaking the law? Pretty soon, I won't have any information to give you."

"All right," she sighed. "You can go on with your big, flashy comedic stunts like you did with the stock exchange building. But NO major property damage, NO hurting people, and anything you steal HAS to find its way back to the owners!" she said, pointing a finger at me. "You want to make people laugh? Then you do it without breaking my rules."

I moped. "I guess I can work something out."

"And I need the Spoiler's identity."

"Oh, come on!"

"I don't want her arrested. She's the best hacker out there, next to me. I want to hire her. Like you, she has fingers in parts of the underworld I can't get to. She'll have to restrain her troublemaking impulses just like you will, but eventually, I'm hoping the two of you could make a good team."

"Eventually? How long do I have to do this for you?"

"I think that, with time, you'll want to do this."

I started crying. Why did all the great comedians have to overcome such adversities?

To be concluded . . .


	11. Chapter 10

Title: Rappacini's Last Laugh (10/10)

Author: Allaine

Email: All characters are property of DC Comics. No profit intended, etc., etc.

Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None.

Distribution: If you want it, just ask.

Summary: Poison Ivy is mad in love, and Harley Quinn is sorely vexed by it. A DC Elseworlds fic.

* * *

Chapter 10

"Rappacini! Rappacini!" I murmured the next day when I was alone. "And is _this_ the upshot of your experiment?"

Remember when we first started talking? Remember how happy-go-lucky I was? Everything was fine until Spoiler - suddenly the name takes on a darker meaning - told me about Oracle. My sad story begins AND ends with Oracle, in fact.

Shall we review?

Currently I'm lying in a hospital bed, although as far as I know, this building is no hospital. I can't exactly leave because my right foot is being suspended in a cast, thanks to my broken ankle. Plus I'm being blackmailed by the Oracle. If I don't do what she says, I could find myself exchanging my tights for a Blackgate prison jumpsuit. Or a bull's-eye on my back. Now I'm faced with the prospect of pulling _fake_ crimes to maintain my standing in the criminal community so I can dig up dirt on them and feed it to Oracle.

I've already squealed on Babs Gordon, who probably hates my guts by now.

And I gave up the chemist. Still not sure how I feel about that.

The only good thing is that I finally killed the Floronic Man. But I can no longer take any pleasure in that triumph. Somewhere in this complex, my bestest friend and unrequited love Poison Ivy is undoubtedly crying her eyes out, pining away for the man she was genetically modified to be desolate without. I broke her heart, and the break is never going to heal.

"Pammy hates me," I whispered. Then I started crying again. It was over. Batman had won. I was officially one of the terminally depressed residents of Gotham. I might as well get myself a freeze ray and a fishbowl helmet.

There was a jingling outside my door, and I raised my head. My door was locked from the outside. I mean, really - did I not mention the broken ankle? What was I going to do, walk out on my hands?

I wondered if it could be done.

I heard two voices as the door opened, and I instantly recognized one of them. Pammy was in her queen bee mode. "Modern medicine!" she sneered. "Why didn't you just amputate! Was your hook not sterile enough?"

"I'm a trained doctor, you green-robed prima donna," Phantasm retorted as they came in.

I just kinda stared at Ivy. I didn't even think of wiping my tears. She looked better than I expected. If the Phantasm didn't clue you in, she was wearing a green robe. It was probably the most clothes I'd seen Ivy wear in months. It was a refreshing change. Sometimes when you saw practically nothing but skin week after week, you started imagining how she'd fill out dresses and bathing suits and such.

Most people undress beautiful women with their eyes. Naturally I did it backwards.

Whoa, having sexual thoughts about the woman who was undoubtedly here to ream me out - bad call.

You gotta understand - Pammy has a wicked temper, and she's not afraid to unleash it. When she first started dropping by my hideouts all that time ago, her "gratitude" never stopped her from verbally ripping me to shreds for various infractions, most often "speaking ill of my rosebud". Even after we became friends, Pammy could still let loose. Friendship, after all, was a one-way street with Poison Ivy. She deigned to call you her friend, and she could just as easily remove you from the list. I wasn't looking forward to her vicious tongue . . .

Eep! More naughty thoughts!

My mind must have _really_ wandered, because I suddenly realized Pammy was inspecting my cast with disdain. "Archaic," she sniffed. "Using man's medicine. And you call yourself a woman," she said to the Phantasm.

"I liked you better when you were heavily sedated," the Phantasm replied.

Pammy just dismissed her, turning her back on the doctor-turned-vigilante. "This cast will have to come off. I'll need some things from one of the hideouts. You do your little smoke-thing and fetch them, all right? I should write a list," she said thoughtfully. "These days people can't even tell herbs from weeds any more!"

"Excuse me, but I do not appreciate being treated like a servant!"

Neither did most of the people who visited the Iceberg, or the entire staff at Arkham, or even me, but that never helped us either.

"And that cast is going to have remain on for weeks," Phantasm added.

Oracle had suggested I get to know them by their real names, but I refused. My small, pitiful act of rebellion.

"I'll be fashioning some poultices for her ankle," Ivy said as if Phantasm hadn't spoken. "She can be as good as new in three weeks or less."

"That's good," I spoke up for the first time. "I'll be able to run better when you kick my ass across town."

Ivy just looked at me for a moment. "I'm afraid I don't know of any treatments for that sense of humor, Harley," she said finally. "Could we be given a few minutes alone?"

There was a pause. "Oh, I'm sorry," the Phantasm said. "I didn't think you were speaking to me, seeing as how you were asking a question, not giving an order."

"Please?" I asked meekly from bed. "Please - Andrea?"

The rebellion was over. Who's Spartacus? Not me.

"Well, all right," the Phantasm said at last. "But if I come back in here and find her tearing your cast off with her bare hands, I'm not going to be happy."

"Oh, go and do your poof trick," Ivy said.

The Phantasm scowled before going out and locking the door behind her.

Ivy sighed when she was gone. "It's better than Arkham, at least," she said. "None of those starchy cotton uniforms. And sedated is better than medicated, I always say."

An inability to use witty banter appeared to be a symptom of my poor humor. My eyes started welling up again. "I'm sorry, Pammy," I squeaked.

"Don't," Ivy said as she pulled a chair over and sat down. "Just - don't apologize. I'm just barely holding it together."

The despair in her eyes made me cringe in my bed. "H-how . . . how are they treating you?"

"Like a lab rat," she said, shrugging. "A very, very fragile lab rat. Either they're afraid I'll poison them, or they think I'm made of china. I suppose you might have created the latter impression?"

"I kinda suggested you'd be, you know, depressed."

Ivy chuckled bitterly. "Lost and bewildered is more like it."

I started crying in earnest now. "It wasn't supposed to end like that!" I whimpered. I don't look very good when I whimper either. Does anybody really look good when they whimper though?

"No," Ivy agreed. "It was supposed to end with you dead and Jason alive."

I gasped. Why did I let that bother me? It wasn't like Ivy hadn't tried to kill me herself. But it still did. "Then why did you save me!"

Ivy looked down. "I'm not exactly sure," she confessed. "I crawled in and found the two of you laughing your heads off. Neither of you looked particularly good. I made a split decision. For whatever reason, I picked you. It - seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now?" I asked softly. "Not such a good idea?"

"I don't know. It's just . . . you'd almost died twice that night. I could have killed you, and then I could have _let _you die. I suppose I could no longer bear to risk seeing you die through either commission or _omission_." Ivy looked at me again and sighed. "This is all partially my fault, I suppose."

"Huh?"

She looked annoyed - at herself, it turned out. "I never considered the effect my beauty would have on a lesbian," she said. "Naturally one as irresistible as I must be careful around men. Otherwise I might find a hundred different men competing for my hand on any given night."

Her ego still seemed healthy enough.

"If only I'd known you were gay, Harley," she said, shaking her head. "All those nights you were exposed to my charms - you couldn't help falling in love with me. If I'd realized you were attracted to women - "

"Actually, I'm kinda bisexual."

"Ugh," Pammy said, revolted. "If you could be attracted to a woman, why would you ever take a man to bed? Men are disgusting, nasty creatures. Bisexuality is just another word for 'bad taste'."

I didn't bother to point out the fact that she'd been involved with a man for years. Bringing Jason up again wasn't a good idea. Besides, her comment implied that our little kiss at the hideout was just a one-time thing. I sighed heavily and said nothing.

"I'm sorry if I'm sounding brusque," she said, misinterpreting my sigh, "but that's just the way I see it. As I was saying, this whole thing could have been avoided if you'd just told me the truth."

"Oh?" I asked. "What would you have done?"

Pammy shrugged. "Sought another refuge when I was out on the street."

"You mean - stop being friends with me?" I said, pained.

"Of . . . " She stopped and toyed with my bedsheet. "I don't mean to make it sound like your - feelings for me don't matter. You were a great comfort to me all those times, and I appreciate it. But if it meant stopping you from murdering Jason, then yes, of course I would have gone elsewhere!"

"I'd take it back if I could," I pleaded. "I didn't want him dead if it meant doing this to you! If I could snap my fingers and make him alive again - "

"Hmph," she interrupted darkly. "I'm not sure it would make any difference now."

"What?"

Ivy frowned. "Your friend the doctor has been telling me things. Apparently her sister was Jason's first experiment. Jason told me many times that I was always intended to be Poison Ivy. I do not like finding out I was his - second choice."

Since when did Ivy have PRIDE when it came to the Floronic Man?

"And now she claims there is some element in my genes that compelled me to love him," she added. "He was a giant among men. I do not understand why he couldn't trust me to love him on my own."

"Um, Pammy?" I suggested gently. "Maybe that element is the _reason_ you think he's a 'giant among men'?"

She looked blankly at me, and I decided not to push it. Although really, I'd spent the past two years giving her reasons to dump his sorry carcass, and she gets angry with Woodrue after a couple sit-downs with a woman who dresses up like a ghost on Halloween night?

"At any rate," Ivy went on, "I do not yearn for him quite as much as I used to. But . . . there is something missing. It must be him, because nothing else has changed. Soon my anger will pass, and I will want him back more than ever. Whether it's my genes or my heart talking, I know there is this _void_ in my life now, and I don't know how to fill it. I don't know what to fill it with."

"I wish I could help," I said miserably.

Ivy stood up. "Talk to me tomorrow," she said. "At least you understand me better, Harley. Maybe you can figure it out for me."

Yesterday's desire to see her after I woke up from my coma had swiftly died when I realized what I had done to her. If she hadn't barged into my room, I might have avoided her until the day my ankle healed. Now that she was here, though, I wanted her back tomorrow so badly. Even if her presence tortured me with the memory of what I'd done to her, it was a sweet torture nonetheless.

"You can see me as much as you like," I told her.

"Assuming the Phantasm learns to take orders," Pammy growled.

That was Pammy. The world would work so much better, if only it listened to her.

* * *

The next day, Pammy and the Phantasm - sounds like a movie they'd show on the Wonderful World of Disney - returned with an armload of plants. "Oracle says if it will get you back on the street quicker," Andrea grumbled as she removed my cast, "she'll try anything." Then she watched us carefully as Pammy spent an hour fashioning what looked almost like a green and yellow ankle sock and fastening it over my foot.

The day after that, Pammy and I talked for hours. She said she was feeling a little better.

The following day, Pammy touched my hand briefly before she was taken away. And it didn't feel awkward.

And about a week later, I woke up one morning and realized no one had bothered to come for Ivy the night before. I realized this because she was snuggled next to me in bed.

I almost peed myself.

I must have moved somehow while I was regaining control over my bodily functions, because Ivy lifted her head. "Go back to sleep, Harley," she said sleepily. "It's not morning yet."

"Uhhh . . . how do you know it's not morning yet? There's no windows."

"I always know when the sun is up. It's in my blood. Now go back to sleep." She dropped her head down again and slid her arm across my waist.

"Heh-heh, sure thing, Pammy," I whispered.

Then I grabbed the button Phantasm set up for medical emergencies and pressed it. Many times. I was still pressing it when the door opened and Black Canary burst in. "What's the - am I interrupting something?" she asked slyly.

Ivy sat up this time. "Do you mind?" she asked irritably.

"Have you been in here all night?"

Ivy nodded. "I didn't want to sleep on the floor."

Oh. Maybe it wasn't a big deal then. Pammy sure loved her comfort.

"Well, you should go back to your room now," Canary told her.

"But I don't want to leave Harley," Ivy pouted.

"I believe part of being involuntarily confined here is that you have to do what you're told."

Ivy sagged. Actually, she _wilted_ as Canary came over and took her by the arm.

I sat up as they left, alarmed. "Dinah," I said. "I need to speak with Andrea right now."

"Despite what happened last week with Andrea and Ivy's plants, we are NOT your messengers," Dinah shot back.

"Hello? Emergency button being pushed? I need the Phantasm right fucking now!" I hissed at her.

Black Canary rolled her eyes. "I should have gone home last night," she sighed. "I'll tell her - if I see her."

I seethed as she sauntered out with Ivy in tow, but my irritation with my keepers quickly subsided in the face of these new developments.

On the surface, it seemed good. Fantastic, in fact. But this was really, _really_ bad.

Andrea finally showed up a half hour later. The Phantasm represented another tricky problem for me. My politeness toward Oracle disguised my hatred for how she was blackmailing me into becoming a stool pigeon. I didn't have much contact with the Black Canary. But the Phantasm - I kinda liked her. We'd bonded slightly that one night over our shared loathing for the Floronic Man - rest in mulch, you bastard - and since then she'd monitored my condition with care.

I was NOT going to be a happy little parakeet in this Birds of Prey organization, but whatever I was going to do about it, I didn't think I wanted her to get hurt.

"I hear there's been a breakthrough," Andrea said dryly as she came in.

"It's a nightmare," I replied glumly.

Andrea looked startled. "Dinah tells me Ivy was all over you this morning, and I know how you feel about her. Why is this a bad thing?"

"Because she's behaving _exactly_ the same way she behaved with Jason," I said. "Clingy and affectionate when I'm around, joyless when I'm not. Is there any way her genetic makeup could have, I don't know, mutated again? If so, we've _gotta_ get more of the chemist's special juice! Because I can't become like him!" I added desperately. This was exactly why I rejected Jason's offer before he died - I couldn't MAKE her love me!

"Even after a week of testing and study, my mother and I still don't know enough about Poison Ivy's genetics to give you a definite answer," she said, frowning. "We have been finding things out, though."

"Like what?"

"We'll never know for sure now that Jason is dead," Andrea told me, "but we have a theory that Ivy's genetic modifications were only half of the deal. It's entirely possible that Jason's DNA was altered as well."

"Well, yeah, of course," I said. "To make him immune to poisons."

"Yes, that. But we suspect he transformed himself into a plant hybrid as well, specifically one that gave off a special kind of pheromone. Ivy gives off pheromones too, right?"

I nodded. That was part of how she enslaved men with her kiss.

"Jason may have emitted a special pheromone with one specific purpose - to attract Ivy, drawing her to him. That may be how he became the center of her universe."

"And when I injected him with the stuff that changed his DNA back," I realized, "he couldn't do that any more."

"So when Ivy walked in and found you and Jason dying from the Smilex gas, there was no longer this genetic mandate compelling her to love him completely. For once, Ivy's own instincts determined the outcome of her split-second decision."

"And she saved me," I whispered.

"Plants are very hardy and adaptive lifeforms, and Ivy is nothing if not determined. I suppose it's possible that, in the face of the permanent loss of her 'sunshine', she sought out a replacement. And you were the obvious candidate." Andrea hesitated. "This Rappacini story you're always quoting - I went back and I read it. You do remember what happened to Beatrice when she drank the antidote, right?"

"Yes," I said. The poison had been a part of her system for too long and . . . she died.

"I know you probably want this gene-altering chemical made more than ever now, so you can change her back. But it's an extremely risky scheme. Even if it works, the toxins in her system could very well kill her. Maybe it would be best if you let her be." She smiled slightly. "You don't have Jason's DNA, after all. So if Ivy has given Jason up and selected you, her decision HAS to be partly motivated by her feelings for you. From what I've been told, the way you've treated her over the years would inspire love and affection in almost anyone."

Tears were in my eyes, but for the first time in days, they were tears of hope, rather than of sadness. "You think so?" I asked.

"Well, if you're going to go on loving her, and teaching her to believe that she's an equal partner in the relationship instead of a slave . . ."

"Oh my God!" I blurted out. "If anyone's going to be doing the worshipping, it's going to be me!"

"Then you're what's best for her. Let Beatrice and Giovanni keep their poisons, and each other."

Suddenly I couldn't wait for Pammy to be brought back. I wanted her to hold me again. This time I could enjoy it. Without wanting to use the bathroom.

* * *

"I still can't believe it," I said as I stood on the runway.

"Which part?" Pammy asked.

"All of it!"

Pammy and I were waiting for a small plane to take us to Central City. According to Jean-Paul Valley, that's where the next Judge is supposed to strike.

Until yesterday, I had thought it would be Phantasm and Black Canary going to track down the Judges. In fact, we were using their plane tickets. We'd be flying under the names of "Andrea Thompkins" and "Dinah Lance".

I was supposed to remain behind in Gotham to feed Oracle information on my fellow Rogues. I still wasn't happy about it. I could live with it, though. In the two weeks since Pammy had suddenly fallen for me, I'd been floating through the days in a delirious state of euphoria. Not that we'd made love or anything yet, but she was lavishing on me the same sort of attention and support she'd always wasted on Woodrue.

And not that it was going to waste on me! Thanks to her programming, she was a little confused at first when I treated her like her opinions mattered. I think Pammy held herself back a lot when she was the "sidekick". Jason was supposed to be the brilliant one, and the strongest one. Now I'm encouraging Pammy to be the brains of our little pairing. The planning stages were never exactly my strong suit. And she's gotten better at controlling plants. Whatever block her subconscious placed on her powers is gone now, and now I bet she'd have no problem using plants to attack more than one person at a time.

Not to mention the fact that I've been returning all her devotion with devotion of my own. I think eventually she'll figure out that love is going to be a two-way street with us, and that I'll work to earn her heart for the rest of my life.

Well, she'd been doing more scheming than I realized. Yesterday she asked Oracle to see us, and once the Mafia princess arrived, Pammy went into full diva mode, told Oracle she was being stupid. "Why take Phantasm and Black Canary out of Gotham right when they've established themselves among the Rogues as a threat to be feared?" she had asked. "And why leave Harley here to waste her time information-gathering? You've got this Spoiler girl to do that for you!"

"I hardly think Harley can take the Judges on one-on-one," Oracle had replied.

"You have figured out we're inseparable, right?" Ivy had asked. "Of course I would go with her."

"But Pammy!" I had said. "What about the plants? I thought you had big plans for the lumber companies and the oil companies and . . ."

Ivy just looked at me with this annoyed little smile, and I realized I shouldn't have said that in front of Oracle. Although the fact that she was ABLE to be annoyed with me, instead of docilely taking it, was a plus.

"I'll go wherever you go and help you like a good sidekick," she only said.

"Partner," I had corrected her.

Oracle had been interested. I think she'd considered it already, but knew I couldn't do it alone. She had no hold over Pammy, so she had figured Ivy would want to stay in Gotham.

And Ivy was right. Taking the Birds out of Gotham just when they'd made their reputation was stupid. Isn't my Pammy smart?

Which is why we're waiting for a plane with our very small luggage and my very healed ankle. I'll never take a doctor's advice over Pammy's ever again.

"At least now we can talk freely," Ivy said. "I never knew when we were being monitored back there."

"About what? We can't escape, you know. They'd just track us down. Besides, I've been thinking more about it, and these Judges DO need to be stopped. We can't just let them go on killing people like us."

"Oh, I completely agree, Red," Pammy said. That was her new pet name for me, because of my costume. It sounded better than Black. "We can't let them go on doing what they've been doing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you see, Red? A cult composed entirely of men who can be easily programmed to do whatever the leaders want them to do? A group of ready-made slaves? I tell you, it's like a wet dream for me," Pammy said greedily.

"I hope it's the only one that doesn't involve me," I replied.

She gave me a smile that made me want to melt. "Of course," she assured me. "Anyway, I want to find the Judges too. A few kisses and they'll tell us everything they know. Including, perhaps, the whereabouts of their leaders. Then it'll be time for the Order of St. Harley."

"I never thought of myself as a saint."

"If one of us has to be a saint, it's CERTAINLY not me," Ivy replied.

She had a point. Saints weren't known for their bitchiness.

"It'll be a simple thing to reprogram the Judges to do anything we want," Ivy went on. "Then let Oracle expose you. I'd like to see them TRY to have you arrested with a few dozen Judges guarding you. Not to mention me," she added firmly. "I'd die for you."

"Don't you say things like that," I said. "You will NOT throw your life away for me. We're in this together, remember? Partners. If you died . . . my life wouldn't be much fun anyway."

Ivy turned bright red. I loved doing that to her. Then she grinned. "Just think of it, Harley," she said. "We could even send a few dozen Judges after the Oracle. After all, we know where she lives."

"No," I said. "The Phantasm could get hurt."

"But Red," she said, sulking. "She gave me my scar!"

"Pammy, you're a fiendishly clever girl, and I love you for it. But I'm not going to blame her for something she did while she was trying to kill Jason Woodrue."

She didn't get mad, I'm happy to say. It seemed "speaking ill of Rosebud" was no longer on her list of major offenses.

"Besides," I said, "we'll have defeated the Order, not Oracle. WE'LL have all that power. We can send Order members anywhere to do anything. Throw cream pies, plant smart trees, you name it. And the almighty source of wisdom won't be able to do anything about it. Let her stew about THAT."

Pammy chuckled. "You're a fiendishly clever girl, Red, and I love you for it."

As the plane taxied onto the runway, I thought about how we were leaving not just Gotham, but our old lives behind. But Gotham was a depressing city. And I had no regrets, no reason to feel sad. Even Spoiler wasn't mad at me. Oracle was paying her a lot of money to poke around, and now that her father was preparing for retirement, suddenly Babs wasn't so interested in making trouble for the police.

Now that we're getting away from Gotham, how can we not be happy?

So, in the real-life version of _Rappacini's Daughter_, Doctor Rappacini's scheme succeeds after all. If the old coot were real, I bet he'd be laughing right now.

And I couldn't be happier. Donald O'Connor said it best.

Make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh!

The End.

Author's Note - For those who don't follow the Birds of Prey, Helena Bertinelli is the Huntress in the current Birds of Prey comic book title. Black Canary and Oracle are the other members. But of course, in DC it's Barbara Gordon who is Oracle.

Oracle blackmailing Harley into helping her was meant to be a parallel to Barbara forcing Savant and Creote to help the Birds of Prey in a recent storyline.

The Phantasm's real name was Andrea Beaumont in the B:TAS movie. Make what you will out of her last name in this story.

The Judge appeared in a single episode of _The Batman and Superman Adventures_. He turned out to be a third personality of Harvey Two-Face.

Jean-Paul Valley is actually Azrael, created by the Order of St. Dumas to be a crimefighter willing to use lethal force.

Wow. My last Harley/Ivy story. I loved writing this one. Fortunately there are writers like Jen Kollic and Amimako who will keep the fandom alive.

Thanks to all my readers :)


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